Night Obsession
by Angelmuse
Summary: Christine and Raoul are on their way to be married, in his hometown on the coast of France. She has left Erik, at least, according to her conscious self. Her unconscious self, however, thinks quite differently.....
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing about these characters but the stubborn determination to re-shape their destinies...**

**A/N: I have decided to revise this chapter so that the events in these dreams are told only from Christine's POV. I have also eliminated superfluous material. **

**There is a reason for the year in which this story takes place: Andrew Lloyd Webber's world-famous musical was first brought to the stage in 1986. So my selection of a year a century earlier is a sort of tribute to him.**

**This story might seem a bit unusual to many readers. My only explanation is that this is what my unconscious has concocted, with the ever-present help of my muses! In the Author's Notes for a later chapter, I will explain how the immortal Susan Kay has given me some inspiration, as well.**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

**Chapter 1: An Unexpected Occurrence**

_**1886, somewhere near the northern coast of France**_

_Christine knew that Madame Giry had done well in choosing Father Girard for the intimate ceremony. Erik had tremendous respect for him. Knowing how very important a religious ceremony was to his beloved soprano, he had agreed to have a Catholic wedding, instead of merely the civil ceremony he would have preferred._

_The moment for the solemn ritual had arrived. As the congregation rose, Father Girard motioned for Christine to be escorted down the aisle. She saw Erik standing proudly, like a magnificent dark statue, at the altar, his mask in place. He was trying to contain the strong emotion that had its grip on him. His golden gaze was locked on her, as she waited at the entrance to the chapel. _

_"The Wedding March" came forth from the organ like an elegant storm of glorious sound. Christine felt, at that moment, that no piece of music ever created could rival it in grand majesty. _

_Nadir began escorting her down the aisle. She kept her eyes fixed on Erik's throughout the walk. The Persian, who looked regal in his flowing robes, made sure she kept time with the music. _

_The bridal gown train, strewn with many tiny diamonds and pearls, swept grandly behind her. The gown itself, of brilliant white organdy, perfectly showcased her slim figure without immodestly revealing it. The sleeves were studded with little pearls and diamonds as well. A graceful and equally modest decolletage framed her neck and face, which was covered by a gossamer veil crowned with white lilies. The gown was an exact replica of the one Erik had obtained for her while he still lived at his home by the underground lake. The original had, unfortunately, been lost in the midst of the mob's insane fury when they had stormed the house._

_She smiled at Erik as she approached the altar. Nadir Khan gave her hand into his, and stepped back._

_She felt the warmth of Erik's gloved hand enclose her own, grasping it firmly. She looked at him through misty eyes, squezzing his hand, letting him know that this was real, this was what she wanted. He responded by lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss upon it, before lowering it again..._

The coach lurched suddenly, and she was rudely awakened. Dazed, she opened her eyes, and stared up into the face of...Raoul, who was looking down at her sweetly, illuminated by moonlight.

"Ah, my little lovebird awakens at last," he crooned, while Christine, frowning, brought a hand up to her forehead, massaging it briefly. She felt totally confused. Had she stumbled into a dream, while that other, incredibly beautiful scenario, was the true reality? It had seemed so glowingly real...Yet here she was, in a coach, half-asleep, her head in Raoul's lap...

"What is it, my sweet little Lotte?" he inquired with some amusement. "Have you just returned from an unpleasant dream?"

She tried to sit up, but fell back into his lap. Raoul laughingly helped her back up.

Turning to him, she frowned again.

"Where are we going, Raoul?" she finally asked. She simply could not believe the shift in scene and cirmcunstances she had so swiftly undergone. She had been about to marry Erik...yet here she was, in a coach with Raoul, going she knew not where, although he seemed to. Had she been reliving a memory? Had she, in fact, married Erik, and somehow ended up here, having forgotten...but no, that train of thought led only to madness. She whimpered softly, bringing a hand to her mouth.

Raoul was looking at her strangely. "What is the matter, my princess? You know perfectly well where we are going. Come, you must shake off this nightmare. I am here with you. I will allow nothing to harm you."

Leaning over, he brought her over to his side, her head on his shoulder as he cradled her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head.

"There, my love. You must be extremely tired. I promise you that we shall soon arrive at a very nice little town where they are sure to have a comfortable inn for us."

She smiled , and softly caressed his hand. "Yes, " she agreed, "I do feel quite tired. I wish this entire thing was over and done with, and we were already permanently installed in our new home."

"As we shall be, my little Lotte," he promised, settling her more comfortably in his arms.

Christine sighed, although a little nugget of nagging unease had settled in her heart. She decided to push it away, and promptly fell asleep again.

_All of the formal festivities attending a wedding ceremony were at an end. They were now installed in their elegant hotel suite, located in the very heart of Paris. The balcony opened out onto a wonderful view, and the silvery moonlight now softly stole in through the balcony doors. _

_She had gasped with astonished delight when she walked into the suite, her hand in Erik's. Unbeknownst to her, he had lit and placed several candles on the dresser, night table, and writing desk of the spacious apartment. Christine looked around, tears shining in her eyes. She could not contain her happiness at seeing the sensuous, romantic environment that he had created, just for her... He had even ordered roses of the darkest, bloodiest red brought in, and placed them, in exuberant profusion, in several vases all over the room. _

_Her trembling gaze finally fell on the luxurious bed. Between the two pillows lay a single rose. Two ribbons were tied around it -- one black, one white. They were laced through a small envelope. She excitedly ran over to the bed, and picked up the rose carefully, gently untying the ribbons. Having freed the envelope, she pulled out the note it contained. She could feel Erik watching her intently, from his position in one of the luxurious armchairs of the suite. She turned to look over at him, smiling shyly. He was indolently stretched out, his booted feet out in front of him, as he contemplated her. The expression on his face was a mixture of amusement and intense love. She knew he found it hard to believe that she was now his wife. _

_With shaking fingers, Christine now began to unfold the note._

_'My Beloved,_

_You are the glorious reality my music has ever sought to express. You are the dream of love my heart has unknowingly yearned for throughout the years. I am so in love with you that I must have you at my side, until I breathe my last._

_Your adoring Erik'_

_Christine put the note down, speechless. She felt her heart expanding, her joy spilling over in two tears that flowed down her cheeks, as she turned to look at her new husband. As their eyes met, he quietly arose, and went over to her. They gazed at each other silently as he stood in front of her. Then, slowly, deliberately, he removed his mask. Bending down, he took both of her hands, lifting her up to him. She slowly stood, her eyes remaining on his. Softly, tenderly, he gathered her into his loving arms, kissing her forehead and temples, the tip of her nose, before finally moving down to her lips, softly brushing them with his. It was then that she closed her eyes, sighing with happiness, opening her mouth to him. His tongue met hers, sending shivers of delight through her body. _

_He pulled her closer to him, and she grasped him around the waist, as tightly as she could. Her breathing now came in ragged gasps, and she was beginning to feel as though she could scarcely stand. A slow, raging heat built up and gathered in her belly. She could also feel the heat building up in Erik. _

_This was a beautiful madness, a fire-filled ecstasy...For she loved this man beyond all reason. She would never love or desire any other. He was entirely hers...She had ceased to think. Her emotions ruled her now, and she rode their heightening intensity with unrestrained passion...Ah, Erik..._

_Christine felt his arousal, his great love, enveloping her in the most wonderful, sweeping flight of feeling, as the moon filtered through the gossamer curtains, caressing their embracing bodies..._

_Never had she believed this night would ever be possible...this night, this man, this love that filled her so completely, erasing all her doubts and fears...She knew that she was utterly his as he whispered in her ear, "My love, this night is the realization of my greatest dream..."_

The coach lurched again, and again she awoke. Abruptly sitting up, she looked quickly at the man in whose lap her head had been resting. Raoul gazed at her in the dark, puzzled. He could barely see her now, for the moon had fled behind some clouds, but he was aware of her agitation, and did not know what had caused it.

"Christine, what is it? You are worrying me!" he said softly, sweeping her voluminous cascade of hair over one shoulder.

She did not know how to answer him. How could she be on her way to marry one man, while dreaming that she was marrying another? She frowned at the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

"Raoul...I have just had the most peculiar dream, but it is just a vague memory now. I can't recall what took place." Here she blushed, for she was not at all comfortable with lying.

"Well, little Lotte," he said, trying to reassure her, "think no more about it. It will soon dissipate by itself. Remember what awaits us -- a wedding in a beautiful church, in the very center of the picturesque little town in which I spent my first years. My parents' chateau is not far away...we shall have a wonderful honeymoon!"

Abruptly, she sat up, straining to hear. She pulled away from Raoul.

"Christine, what is it?" He could not fathom why she was acting so strangely, but came to the conclusion that she was probably simply nervous about their upcoming wedding. He could also guess that she was even more apprehensive about his parents' probable reaction to the news. Raoul had told her that they had yet to know of his betrothal to Christine.

"Something is wrong," she breathed, her voice full of fear. It was then that they heard them clearly -- the distinct sounds of men's harsh voices, the pawing of horses' hooves, the snorting of equine nostrils. The sounds were approaching rapidly, and even now were surrounding the coach.

She turned to Raoul in great fear. "Robbers!" she breathed out in a horrified gasp.

Quite abruptly, the coach lurched again, very violently, and they were both thrown to the floor. The horses neighed in fear as the coachman cried out in terror. A shot rang out, and his cry was suddenly cut off.

"Christine, you must stay inside the coach," Raoul said, as calmly as he could, while he drew out his pistol, making sure that it was loaded. He also quickly fastened his sword about his waist. Then, swiftly opening the door of the carriage, he nimbly jumped out, while Christine let out a scream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing regarding our beloved Erik, except for the insistent desire to see him living in wedded bliss with his Christine...**

**Chapter 2: A Startling Revelation**

As Raoul jumped out of the coach, he was suddenly thrown violently to the ground, with all the wind knocked out of him. A shot immediately rang out right over him, and he shook his head, stunned. As he recovered, he began to push off the body that was pressing down on him. The horses drawing the coach neighed and moved restlessly, but remained mysteriously in place. Ah, but the body was very much alive! The man who had pushed him down suddenly lifted his head, and the Vicomte was shocked to be face to face with Erik!

"You!" he screamed furiously. "I should have known this would be your doing!" He struggled with all his strength to free himself.

"Shut your mouth, fool! I have just saved your life! That shot was meant for you!" hissed Erik, as he jumped to his feet, immediately taking up a warrior's stance, and not a moment too soon, for a man suddenly rushed at him out of the darkness, brandishing a sword. Erik expertly stepped aside, allowing the momentum of the other's body to carry him forward. The man swept by him, almost falling. He somehow managed to keep his balance, however, and turned, growling, to lunge at Erik once again. The Phantom crouched low, and, sweeping his hand beneath the wildly flailing sword, hit the man right on the stomach. Raoul, still on the ground, saw the metallic flash of a knife as Erik's hand connected. The man doubled over, soundlessly, falling at Erik's feet.

Raoul stood up in gaping shock, and met Erik's blazing eyes.

"You, you..." he sputtered, "How could you...?" He had never seen someone killed so efficiently before. Indeed, he had never seen _anyone_ killed in his presence before.

Erik, panting with bloodlust, glared at him. "Would you rather be the one lying dead at my feet, Monsieur?" He spat the words out, and Raoul tensed, fingering the undrawn sword at his side.

Just then they heard a scream from within the coach. Christine! At the same time, the horses suddenly bolted, sending the coach lurching forward. Both men reacted at once, leaping for the door of the coach. Raoul, who was closest to it, opened it violently, only to be met with the sight of another robber, pointing a pistol straight at him. He had no time to see anything else, for he instinctively ducked as the pistol went off. He heard Christine scream again, as Erik, behind him, let out a shout.

Everything happened in a blur after that. He was hanging on to the coach door for dear life, while a dark fury of madness flew over him, into the coach. A frantic scuffle started inside the coach, while it continued moving, gathering speed, and Christine abruptly grew still.

"Raoul!" screamed Erik, as he struggled with Christine's would-be assailant, "Climb on top and take control of the horses!"

Raoul, exerting all his strength, tried to lift himself onto the roof of the coach, but fell into it instead, on the seat right next to the unconscious Christine. Erik glanced back at him quickly. Turning back to the robber he was struggling with, he suddenly pulled back his fist, and slammed it into the man's face, knocking him out. Then, he pulled himself through the other door of the coach, holding on as best he could, while he stared ahead at the wildly speeding horses. He now lifted his head in song, as loudly, and yet, as melodiously, as was possible for him, under the circumstances. Raoul glared at him as if he had gone mad, but Erik steadily kept on pulling himself onto the roof of the coach as he continued to sing. Amazingly, the horses began to slow down, finally stopping completely. Erik was about to pull himself further up, to take over the reins, when the ruffian awoke, and suddenly grasped his legs, pulling him down and out of the coach. The man landed on top of Erik, who was momentarily dazed, but soon recovered. They began their struggle anew.

Erik managed to scream at Raoul, "The horses! The horses!"

Raoul first leaned over Christine, attempting to re-arrange her clothing. The beast who had entered the coach had had every intention of brutally raping her, taking advantage of the opportunity he saw when Raoul and Erik had been entangled on the other side of the coach. He had ripped her bodice, and her breasts lay exposed. Raoul did his best to cover them, averting his gaze as he did so. Then he swiftly leaped out of the coach, running over to hold the horses' heads.

Meanwhile, Erik continued to struggle with the potential rapist, who had now successfully gotten to his feet, drawing his sword. Erik was also on his feet, snarling like an animal. Sometime during the whole struggle, his mask had been torn off. His face, coupled with the snarling, had turned him into a formidable foe. The bloodlust was raging through him. He badly wanted to kill this man who had dared to paw at his beloved.

The man, apparently undeterred by Erik's frightening appearance, suddenly lunged at him with the sword, and Erik again deftly stepped aside. This time, he mysteriously put his hand into one of his pockets, grinning at the man, who had lost his balance, and toppled to the ground. Just as he was getting up, the deadly punjab lasso whistled through the air, settling neatly about his shoulders. The man saw Erik's face take on an expression of pure rage, his eyes bulging, and screamed in terror. Erik was about to flick his wrist, which would have immediately killed the robber, when another scream from the coach stopped him. It was Christine again! That was enough to make him lose his concentration for a precious second. The man again rushed at him, with the lasso still around his neck. He rammed into Erik, who was thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. The man hastily took the lasso off his neck, to wrap it around Erik's. He immediately began to tighten the noose. He and Erik struggled furiously until, abruptly, a shot rang out. Both men, momentarily stunned, ceased struggling, and lifted their heads.

Christine stood outside the coach, holding Raoul's pistol in both hands. She was pointing it directly at the robber's head. Raoul looked back, in shock. Erik gaped at Christine, not sure he was seeing what he was actually seeing. _His _Christine, with a _pistol_ in her hands?

"Enough!" she now screamed, furiously. "You will cease this at once!" She motioned with one hand to the robber, while she held the pistol steadily, pointing it at him. Erik marveled at her. The hand holding the pistol was not even shaking!

"You!" she spat contemptuously, "You will get up, now!" To everyone's surprise, she pulled the trigger, firing at the ground immediately in front of the robber. The man, terribly startled, jumped up like a jackrabbit. Erik leaned back, licking his lips as he grinned like a wolf. This was going to be hugely amusing. A woman's ire, when aroused, could indeed be formidable, he had heard. Here was living proof, right before his astonished eyes. To add to his amazement, she stood there, with ripped bodice, affording him a most delectable view of her furiously heaving bared breasts...Her anger was too great, however, for her to take notice of this fact. Or perhaps, he thought, this had added fire to that anger...

"I should kill you right where you stand, you insolent viper, for daring to lay your filthy hands on me!" she hissed, with all the venom she was capable of. "But I think you would be better punished if I were to take away the instrument of your bestiality..." Here she adjusted her aim, pointing the pistol directly at the man's genital region.

"At this short range, dear sir, I would surely not miss," she drawled, gloating.

It was a frozen tableau. Erik smirked even as he felt a strange wetness oozing down his right arm, as well as a sting of sharp pain. Raoul did not move as he held the horses' heads, not taking his eyes off Christine, a Christine he no longer knew...The man said nothing, but a gurgling sound now came from his throat. He visibly started to shake.

"Well, now," continued Christine, enjoying the situation tremendously. "This is much better, indeed! I have turned the tables on you, Monsieur, have I not? It is now _you _who are trembling in fear!"

The man still could not speak. The pistol never wavered from its aim.

"I think I shall let you go just this once. Kindly throw your sword over to me, if you please."

The man slowly leaned down, retrieving his sword, and did as instructed.

"Now, Monsieur, I will give you the chance to escape with your life. Start walking!"

"Where...where to?" mumbled the terrified man.

Christine shrugged a delicate white shoulder. "Why do you believe it should matter to me?" she inquired, with a great show of indifference. "I suggest, Monsieur, that you instead consider expressing your gratitude to me, for allowing you to live!"

"Ye...Yes..." mumbled the man.

"So walk!" she screamed at him. "Leave us at once!"

"But...but..." he stuttered, "I need a horse, Mademoiselle...how far can I get on foot? The nearest town..."

"That is _not _my concern, Monsieur!" she screamed, as she kept the pistol firmly trained on his nether region.

"I would do as the lady asks, my dear fellow." Erik put in, lazily, from his vantage point on the ground. "An armed woman can be extremely dangerous, as you can see!" He tried to keep his face straight as he said this. He wanted to laugh out loud, in spite of the increasing pain in his arm.

Without another word, the man suddenly turned and fled.

Erik burst into raucous laughter. He was forced to lie flat on the ground now, for his wounded arm was throbbing painfully. He could not stop laughing, even as he felt the blood continuing to flow, to completely soak his coat sleeve.

"Oh, Christine!" he chortled, while Raoul still stood unmoving, next to the horses. "Christine, Christine! You were magnificent, my love!" His head went back in laughter. "Ahhhhhhh!" he suddenly cried out, as the pain in his arm became almost unbearable.

Christine came out of her furious trance as she heard him groaning. She rushed to his side, dropping the pistol with a now trembling hand.

"Erik! You are hurt! Erik!" She reached him just as he lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Nothing, _nada, rien_...nothing of this marvelous Phantom do I own originally...aye, there's the rub!**

**Chapter 3: The Truth in Scarlet**

Silence, broken only by the soft nickering of the horses, blanketed the scene. Christine knelt by Erik's still form, too shocked to react. Raoul, leaving the horses, came to her side.

"Is he dead?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Christine looked up at him, her face wet with tears. Gone was the fierce, indomitable woman of a few moments before. Raoul caught, in her eyes, what seemed to him to be the beginnings of a mind's unhinging...Kneeling down quickly, he felt the pulse at Erik's throat.

"He lives, Christine," he said to her. She stared down at Erik, without replying. So much blood...

"Christine! Can you hear me? He lives!" Taking her by the shoulders, he shook her violently, once or twice.

She seemed to come out of the strange state of mind she had apparently fallen into, looking up into his eyes, as if coming back from very, very far away. Then her gaze returned to Erik.

"Raoul!" she suddenly screamed. "Erik is hurt! We must find a doctor! Oh, help me carry him to the coach! Oh, help me!"

Raoul was relieved, although her reaction to Erik's condition disturbed him. Would she have behaved thus if he, Raoul, had been similarly wounded? He pushed the question aside, attempting to see Erik as just another human being in need of medical attention. With this thought in mind, he put his arms under Erik's armpits, while Christine, kneeling, grasped his feet. They both stood at once, not without some struggle. Erik was a rather big-boned man. Raoul doubted that he would have been able to carry him, let alone lift him, without Christine's help. He idly wondered how such a big man could move about as stealthily and gracefully as he did.

Together, they carried the unconscious Erik to the coach, laying him carefully on the back seat. Christine's tears began to flow again as she looked upon his bloody clothes. She arranged his wounded arm carefully on top of his chest, and smoothed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. Raoul noticed all this, and gritted his jaw forcefully, as his hands clenched into fists. He strove to control himself, looking away from the scene. Sighing, he made a silent decision, and took off his _cravat_. Christine gave him a bewildered look, then understood what his intention was. Lifting Erik's limp arm, Raoul felt around until he found the wound. Then he tied his cravat around the arm, above the wound, as a tourniquet. This would stop the bleeding. However, the bullet was probably still in the wound. He was sure that Erik would need surgery.

"You ride here with him, Christine," he now said, tightly. " I'll take charge of the horses."

Christine pulled her pain-filled eyes from Erik's face, and up to Raoul's. Her gratitude shone in them. "How far is the nearest town?" she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Not too far," he replied, wanting to caress her cheek, but feeling as if he had lost the right to do such a thing. Turning, he said, over his shoulder, "Keep him as still as possible. I shall try to get us there as fast as I can without unduly disturbing him."

He climbed swiftly onto the roof of the coach, where he found a most unwelcome sight -- the coachman's blood-soaked body, sprawled over the seat. Raoul knew at once that the man was dead, but felt his pulse anyway. There was none. Raoul had no choice but to sit on that same seat, so, pushing the body over to make some room, he settled himself, shook the reins, and called out to the horses. The animals set out at a swift trot.

As they went along, Raoul took his bearings. He was not quite sure that they were moving in the right direction. Craning his neck, he attempted to see beyond the trees surrounding the road, to no avail. He could not discern much in the dim light from the moon, so resigned himself to watching the road as best he could. He had no lantern to light his way, as the one usually carried by the coachman had been knocked down somewhere.

Not long after they had started, the Vicomte heard the nearby sound of a horse's low whinny. Alarmed lest they be attacked again, he urged the horses on to greater speed, then, remembering Erik, slowed them down once more.

A horse now came out of nowhere, dashing right in front of the coach. The animal, Raoul noticed with horror, was dragging a man's body behind him. The feet of the body were caught in the horse's reins. The Vicomte brought the coach horses to a rather abrupt halt.

Raoul jumped down from his perch, and went to steady the horses' heads. Then he walked over to inspect the stranger's body, since the man's horse had stopped, not far from the coach.

The dead man's neck dangled at a rather unusual angle. He had a pistol, which apparently he had not been able to use, still tucked into the belt of his trousers. _Another robber? _Raoul mused. A soft nicker now came to his ears. His eyes followed the trail left by the horse, and he suddenly dimly saw the silhouettes of two other horses, not far from the side of the road. They were nearly hidden by trees. Raoul had no doubt that, if he cared to look, he would find the bodies of their dead owners, not too far away.

_You have been quite busy, Erik!_ He had to grudgingly admit to himself that he and Christine owed their very lives to the nefarious Phantom...

Turning, Raoul walked over to the horse whose former owner's body lay on the ground. Taking the horse's bit in his hands, he slowly led the animal away from the road, dragging his terrible load after him. Then, satisfied that the way was clear, he returned to the coach.

"Raoul!" Christine sounded hysterical. "Why have we stopped?"

The Vicomte quickly ran over to the coach door, and flung it open. "Do not fear, Christine! I merely had to clear the road of... an obstacle that I had encountered. We shall soon be on our way again!"

She sighed, nodded her head, and turned her attention back to Erik. Raoul's heart skipped a beat as he saw her lovingly bring her mouth to Erik's forehead. He forced himself to turn away, climbing back up to the coachman's seat and its unwelcome passenger. Again he shook the reins, and the horses were soon trotting smartly down the road, as if they had never stopped. Raoul hoped they would be arriving at a town before too long.

Inside the coach, Christine, tears flowing freely, laid her head on Erik's chest, next to his bloody hand, not caring that her face, hair, hands and clothing would be stained with his blood. _His blood_...that he had shed for her...

"Erik," she sobbed, "Erik...You have come for me...you must not leave me now...We are going to find a doctor for you, my love...you will be well...Yes, you will!" She clung to him fiercely for a few minutes, then lifted her head to look down at him. She was snapping back to reality, slowly but surely. She realized that Erik's wound was probably not that serious. On the other hand, he had lost quite a bit of blood. He would not have fainted otherwise...

She felt a a knife thrust of longing stab through her...Her dreams came back to her, and she was no longer puzzled by them. She _loved_ this man...She loved him. Her heart was irrevocably his. What had she been thinking, running off with Raoul?

Sighing, she now took up his unwounded arm in her two hands. Leaning over, her tears flowing anew, she kissed that hand, then let it slowly come to rest again next to his body.

"Erik," she whispered, his beloved face blurred through her tears. "Erik, my love, my own...come to me..." And she began to sing to him, very softly. She sang to him as he had many times sung to her, weaving melodies to enchant him back to her. No one but he could hear her. No one but he would feel the lilting beauty of her voice reach into the blackness in which he now lay. No other voice would have the power to pull him back from the edge...

So the coach moved on into the night, as Christine Daae sang to the true love of her heart, who slept now, enveloped in her cherubic voice...


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: "In dreams he came to me..." He enchants my imagination...Would that I had created him! **

**Chapter 4: The Heart Prevails**

He awoke gradually, his eyes fluttering open, and then closing again, quickly. The late afternoon light streaming in through the window was too much for him. He tried to move his right arm over his face, in order to protect his eyes, but found that this was impossible. His arm was mysteriously too heavy. He finally kept his eyes closed, licking his dry lips. Why was he so thirsty? He tried to ask for water, but no sound would come from his throat. His lips simply moved, soundlessly. There was a rustle of fabric very close to the bed in which he now lay, and then he felt a soothing hand on his brow, followed by a feathery kiss. He felt that kiss to his very soul...

"Erik," her voice, sweetly melodious as always, came to him, and he basked in its gentle warmth, although he could not reply. "You are thirsty, my love, are you not?"

He attempted to nod his head, but only succeeded in moving it slightly. He heard the rustle of fabric once more, and realized that she had risen from her seat. _'Don't leave!'_ his mind screamed.

A few seconds later, he felt something being held to his lips, and a hand was behind his neck, trying to push his head up a little. He opened his eyes quite suddenly, and saw her hand, holding a glass of water to his trembling lips. The hand tipped the glass slightly, and his lips came into contact with the water. Parting them, he allowed some of the liquid to trickle in. She tipped the glass a little more, and he was able to gulp down two or three mouthfuls, as the rest dribbled down his chin. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. Her instant smile was like a little sun, coming from behind a dark cloud.

"Is that enough, Erik?" she whispered, so adoringly he wanted to take her in his arms, holding her tightly to his body, to kiss her madly, greedily...

She must have read his mind, for she removed the glass, replacing it with her lips. The kiss started out to be a chaste one, in deference to his present condition, but quickly turned into something more. Weak as he was, Erik grasped her lips with his own, forcefully opening her mouth to plunge in his tongue. Christine sighed into the kiss, sweeping her tongue over, then under, his. He groaned, and attempted to pull her over him. He was only prevented from doing so by his extremely weakened state. Christine, not wanting to tax his energy, started to pull away from him. He groaned again as her mouth left his. His piercing golden eyes fixed their burning stare into hers. He spoke to her with his eyes, telling her what she needed to know. She could not look away. His lips parted again, but she placed a finger on them, smiling as she did so.

"No, my love," she murmured. "Do not try to speak as yet. You must rest. You are out of danger, but must regain your strength."

"You...," he managed to say, hoarsely, "...are...my strength..."

Tears suddenly filled her eyes. She placed one hand on his lips, and he kissed it fervently, closing his eyes rapturously, as his own eyes brimmed over...

"Christine, how is he?" The unwelcome voice came to Erik's ears, and he instantly tensed.

There was a short silence. Raoul took note of the scene: Christine was sitting on the bed, next to Erik, and he was kissing her hand. His heart sank, and he turned away without a word.

Christine guiltily pulled away her hand, and Erik was quick to moan in protest.

"Erik," she whispered, "I...I must speak with him." His eyebrows drew together in anger, and she pursed her lips in anguish. She did not want to leave him, but she must speak with Raoul.

_Their eyes locked. She moved her head down again, meeting his lips once more with her own. The kiss was gentle and sweet. She slowly pulled away from him, straightening up, and he fully expected her to leave the room. Instead, she did something he would never have expected. She began to unbutton the front of the simple gown she wore...His lips parted as his pulse accelerated. Gazing at him steadily, she continued to move her hands down the front of the gown, until enough buttons were undone. To his great surprise, he saw she wore no corset, but only a chemise underneath. She slowly pulled the sleeves of the gown down, as she continued to stare at him steadily. Then she pulled down the straps of her chemise, slowly, oh, so slowly, tantalizingly...His eyes burned. How could she be doing this to him, in his condition? Yet, he did not want her to stop..._

_She pushed the chemise down to her waist, and he was once again treated to the sight of her beautiful breasts. He groaned, as rising passion ripped through him. His breathing quickened. Once again, he wondered why she was torturing him like this. Surely she knew that he could not...perform...just yet..._

_Still looking at him, she leaned down over him, placing one breast within reach of his mouth. He gratefully closed his lips around the nipple, sucking on it, his eyes closed in ecstasy. After a few seconds, she moved her other breast into his mouth, to receive the same loving ministrations from his tongue. Then, inexplicably, she pulled back from him, and he looked at her, questioningly._

_"I am yours, Erik, my love," she murmured, tears in her voice, her eyes, as she pulled the straps of the chemise back on her shoulders, and then buttoned her gown up again. She then arose, and wafted slowly out of the room, blowing a kiss back at him before she softly closed the door behind her._

Erik awoke with a start. He looked wildly around for her, but she had disappeared. Where had she gone? He vividly remembered kissing her lips, and then, kissing...Turning his head on the pillow, he saw the half-empty glass he had drunk from. He suddenly knew that their delectable interlude had been nothing but a dream, albeit a very vivid one...

Raoul was waiting for her in the small sitting room of the spacious suite he had procured for them. He courteously rose from one of the comfortable divans in the room, and immediately sought her eyes. Christine met them, taking a breath to steady herself.

"Christine," he said gravely. "Is he conscious? The doctor said he was out of danger now."

She nodded as she slowly walked to one of the bay windows in the room. The roaring surf of the nearby shoreline could be heard as well as seen from the windows of the inn. "He is very weak, Raoul. He needs to rest for a few days."

He took a deep breath. "I see." There was a short pause. "How many days do you suppose he might need?"

"I would say at least another week," she answered, her back to him as she continued to stare at the surf in the distance. In her mind's eye, she saw a little boy braving that surf to rescue a little girl's scarf...

"Well, then," he continued, lacing his hands behind his back as he walked over to her. "We can continue on our journey. We are not far from my hometown now."

She whirled around, pleading with her eyes. It stabbed him to the heart.

"No, Raoul! I dare not leave him yet. He needs a nurse right now, to look after his needs. He is far from being well. It's only been a week since he was injured!"

Raoul hated himself for trying yet again. He would surely berate himself later, for being such a blind fool. Anyone could see what was happening here. Why could he not simply lick his wounds, admit defeat, and retire from the battlefield? Because he loved her. He adored her. He could not imagine himself loving any other woman. Why could she not love him in return? Then the bitter thought came to him: she did love him...as she would love a brother.

"Christine, do you love me?" he asked abruptly, with an undertone of hostility.

"Why do you ask me this, Raoul?" she returned with an air of injured innocence.

"Christine!" He surprised himself by raising his voice, he, a well-bred aristocrat! "Answer my question, if you please! Do...you...love...me!"

She hesitated, very briefly, and he knew the answer in that hesitation. Turning on his heel, he walked over to the door.

"Raoul, wait!" she called out, trying to stop him. "You did not let me finish!"

"Finish?" he snorted in derision. "Yes, I suppose you should finish...finish our relationship!" With that, he pulled the door open, stalking out of the room.

She ran after him. He had taken the stairs, and was swiftly on his way to the first floor.

"Raoul!" She continued down the stairs after him. He did not stop, did not turn to look back at her. She still followed him. They both came out of the main entrance of the inn. Raoul was heading for the seashore. With a pained heart, she continued after him, although he was walking much faster than she.

Unexpectedly, he whirled on her. "What do you want, Christine? Go back to your lover! He needs you!"

"Raoul," she implored. "Please listen to me...I am sorry...I do not want to hurt you. I do love you..."

"As a brother, is that not so?" he interrupted angrily.

She was momentarily silent. "I cannot deny that," she said quietly. "But I love you as more than a brother, as well."

"Then why have I seen you kissing his forehead, and caressing his hand? Why so many sighs over that man?"

She looked down, not daring to meet his eyes. "I myself cannot understand this, Raoul...I love him, yes. My love for him is different from the love I feel for you...It is intense, passionate, and burns in my heart, giving me no peace. Yours is steady as a candle flame, calming my heart...But my soul knows the truth...It is to him I truly belong..." The ground at her feet blurred beneath her welling tears.

"For this you have followed me?" he asked, his voice full of pain. He turned from her, to stare out at the restless ocean. "Leave me now, Christine. Go back to him. You say he needs you. Very well, go to him. I must be alone for a while." So saying, he started down the hillside, striding toward the sand dunes.

Christine could find nothing further to say. She stood staring after him as he went toward the ocean, wringing her hands in great consternation. At last, she turned to go back to the inn. Erik, the man her heart had finally chosen, awaited her there.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Erik has learned many things in his travels. Although neither Kay nor Leroux mention this, I feel sure that he must have visited India at some point. If not, then he must surely have read about the incredible exploits of the yogis there. Erik has always been insatiably curious, as those of us who are most madly in love with him know! **

**I have decided...wait a minute, what am I saying? It is my muses who have decided to have Erik's unusual suicide attempt turn into a near-death experience...**

**Chapter 5: The Face of His Soul**

Erik closed his eyes in pain. Although his arm throbbed, it was the pain he felt in his heart that tore at him. He was too weak, however, to channel it into anger. So he resigned himself to it, this pain that had accompanied him throughout his life.

She had gone to speak with Raoul. Of course, she had to explain that she would make sure, he, Erik, was comfortable. She would also ask Raoul to leave some money for him at the inn, to cover his expenses. Then she would return to Erik's side, to take her leave of him, and continue her little journey with her precious Vicomte, a journey that would culminate in their marriage...

His mind now began a furious battle with itself. She had called him "my love", when she asked if he was thirsty, and placed her hand on his lips for him to kiss. Yet, she had been much too eager to leave him so that she could have her little talk with that hateful boy. Her apparently sweet behavior with the wounded Erik was purely an act...She was, after all, an opera singer. Did they not act as well as sing? He ground his teeth, his feelings hardening into anger, although he was denied the expression of it.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes again. His plans, he mused, must undergo a change. His original idea had been to snatch Christine from the Vicomte, and forcibly take her away. He had been prepared to fight for her, if necessary. Now he knew he could do nothing to keep her from leaving. There was nothing now to prevent him from leaving, too. He would depart from this earthly plane, by simply allowing himself to die...He closed his eyes once more, feeling his body slowly sinking into the bed, as he willed his heart to stop beating. He had learned the technique during his time in India. The yogis there could control their bodily functions at will. All he had to do was to avoid calling himself back from the abyss that yawned before him. Nature would do the rest, and he would gratefully plunge into that darkness that called out to him, so seductively...Gradually, he felt his heartbeat slowing, crawling inexorably to a stop. His last coherent thought was of his beloved. Her whispered name was his last breath, just before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Christine walked up the steps of the inn with a heavy heart. She had not wanted to hurt Raoul. She could not fathom what was wrong with her, having left Paris with him willingly enough. Yet she knew that there had been just that little nagging doubt in her mind, that slow regret that told her she was making the wrong decision. Now, although she felt sadness for the Vicomte, she knew exactly what she wanted -- a mysterious, tormented man who wore a mask, whose soul's beauty had captured her heart...

Putting aside all thoughts of Raoul, she went up the stairs with a lighter step. He was up there, wounded, yes, but swiftly recovering. Her mind had almost snapped when she had seen all the blood. So much blood, she thought, from a wound that was not life-threatening!

As she opened the door of his room, all her senses were suddenly alert, and her heart started racing. Something was not quite right; indeed, something was horribly wrong...Rushing over to Erik's bed, she noted with alarm the sudden pallor of his features. She grasped his face, calling out to him desperately. His flesh was cold to the touch.

"Erik!" she screamed, over and over, but he did not respond. Her anguish at last spilled out into tears, great racking sobs, as she threw herself on top of him. Her tears wet his chest, which did not move with the flow of life's breath, but lay still, much too still...

_She was calling to him. Dimly, from a great distance, he heard her voice, marveling at the desperation in it. He attempted to turn back from the darkness, and reach out to that voice, but he was being pulled away, away, into a pitch-black tunnel, at the end of which he could see a light of unearthly brilliance. Her voice receded even more, as he gathered speed, flying further into the tunnel. He felt as if he weighed no more than a feather. The light now beckoned, almost reaching for him, and he continued to fly toward it, with no effort of his own, but as if propelled by an unseen force. Before long, he was surrounded by its comforting warmth. The light was piercingly bright, the whitest white he had ever seen, and yet his eyes felt no discomfort. _

_A shape was forming in the light. It seemed that some of the light's atoms were now solidifying themselves to form a recognizably human figure. As he watched, the figure became more solid, and at last, he could see that it was a man. This man was not dressed as Erik thought an angel would be. This was ludicrous, he thought, smiling to himself. Barring Christine, when had he ever seen a real angel? Of course, he was expecting something like the images in the paintings of the great artists -- long, flowing white robes, and golden hair, framing a delicately pearly complexion. The man that now faced him was dressed in the fashion of, roughly, twenty years before. He was not young, but appeared to be nearing middle age. His eyes looked at him in a kindly manner, his mouth forming a smile beneath a neatly-trimmed mustache. Erik stared at him in wonder. There was something disturbingly familiar about this man. He could not quite think what it was. Perhaps he resembled someone Erik knew exceedingly well._

_"Hello, Erik," the man suddenly said, in a clear, melodious voice._

_Erik nearly jumped at this surprising greeting. "How is it that you know my name? Who are you?"_

_"I know the most important thing about you," the man continued, his smile broadening. "I know that you are the man who loves my Christine with a love that encompasses eternity. A love, my dear boy, that she feels just as strongly."_

_Erik stared at the man, his eyes widening. Abruptly, he felt a current of electricity flow like lightning up his spine._

_"You are..." he swallowed, about to go on, but the man interrupted him._

_"Yes, my boy, I am...Gustav Daae."_

Christine was not aware of the passing of time. She only knew that she had no more tears to shed. He was apparently gone, to where she could not follow, at least, not without doing violence to herself. She was stunned, and she could feel her mind beginning to shut down. Everything was growing dark around her, her vision tunneling down to where she no longer saw anything but his beloved face. Then, even that disappeared...

_She was apparently floating now, floating in the most beautiful, brilliant white light. It was all around her. Looking back, she only saw endless darkness. She was floating, flying, away from it, and her body began to gather speed of its own accord, as she felt herself blanketed in the strangest, most welcoming warmth._

_She heard voices ahead, in the distance. Where was she? Into what wondrous land of her unconscious mind had she inadvertently ventured? As she got closer, she was able to discern two figures. They appeared to be human. Her breath quickened. Perhaps they were angels..._

_She now seemed to be standing, not far from them. One of the figures, becoming aware of her presence, beckoned to her with a very human-looking hand. As she got closer, she gasped. At the same time, the second figure turned, to gape at her._

Erik, with her father.

_She stood still in shock, looking from one to the other. How could this be?_

_"Christine," her father called to her, with that gentle tone she had so sorely missed throughout the years._

_She came forward, unable to pull her gaze from his, and he held out a hand to her. _

_"Oh, Father!" she cried out, and rushed into his arms, weeping._

_He held her, as tenderly as he had in life, and she put her arms around his neck, hoping he would not leave her again, but knowing that he inevitably had to. As if reading her thoughts, he now gently pulled her arms down, and, holding her left hand, turned to Erik. Still smiling, Daae beckoned to him in silence._

_Erik drifted over to them, puzzled. His eyes took in Christine's face, noticing how her eyes began to glow as she looked upon him. When Erik was right in front of them, Daae took his left hand, joining it with Christine's right hand._

_"My children," he said, ever so softly, "it is not time for either of you to make this crossing. You both must return, for you have many years to live together. You have my heartfelt blessings."_

_As he said these words, he released his grip on their hands, leaving them joined together. He stepped back, and began to slowly fade, a tender smile remaining on his lips._

_Christine cried out again, reaching out to him. She stepped forward to grasp him even as his form dissolved into brilliant specks of light. Erik gently restrained her. She turned to him, her expression a mixture of abject loss and soaring joy. Erik smiled at her, his own eyes moist. Lifting one of her hands, he brought it to his lips, while his eyes looked longingly into hers._

_"Come, my sweet, we must return," he murmured, his heart full._

_She could not stop looking at him. Indeed, she seemed mesmerized by him._

_"Erik," she now said, her voice low, the wonder in it causing him to tilt his head slightly as he looked at her, confused._

_"What is it, Christine?" he asked, somewhat worried._

_"Your face, Erik," she said in awe. "Your face! Oh, it's so beautiful! If you could only see yourself...there is no disfigurement! You are a most handsome man!" _

_She brought her hand up to his face, and caressed it, her lips slightly parted, her expression much like that of a child who has discovered some hitherto unknown marvel of nature._

_He smiled. "You have seen the face of my soul," he whispered, as he gathered her into his arms, bringing his lips to hers._

Christine awoke, startled, and immediately looked down at Erik. She noticed, to her great relief, that his face had now acquired some color, and he was breathing normally, his eyes closed in sleep. Wanting to reassure herself further, she leaned over and felt the pulse at his throat. It was normal, as far as she could tell. Smiling softly, she caressed his hair, pushing a rebellious lock off his forehead. Leaning over further, she kissed him lightly, then moved back.

She looked around for a chair. Finding one, she dragged it over to the bed, straining at its weight. She moved it as close as possible to the edge of the bed, and continued to look at him as she sat down. She would stay next to his side all through the night.

She now recalled the images she had seen, in that strange other world she had visited, along with Erik. Smiling in the now slowly gathering darkness, she tried to grasp them in her mind, so that she could forever treasure them. Her father had been so real...he had held her, and she could remember his voice. It had all been real. Then she remembered Erik's face. She had never seen such a beautiful face on a man before. Gone was all trace of the disfigurement that had been the bane of his existence since birth. She now compared that face to the one that lay sleeping on his pillow. She could easily picture it superimposed on the face before her. Sighing contentedly, she pulled her feet up under herself, continuing to stare at Erik in the waning light. She had seen the face of his soul. No longer could she doubt that she was truly his...


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Readers of this story must remember that I am simply the instrument used by my muses to tell their tale. The fact that these muses have taken up residence in my subconscious mind is unimportant. All great fictional creations become part of their readers. If the reader also happens to be a writer, well, then, anything is possible...**

**Chapter 6: A Remembrance of Things Present**

Erik felt her presence at his side before he opened his eyes, her faint fragrance delighting him with its sweetness. Turning his head on the pillow, he gazed at her sleeping figure, slumped in the chair next to his bed. His heart ached as he beheld her. She was so pure, so beautiful, and now, she was completely his. He knew it with a certainty that surprised him, until he remembered the strange experience he had undergone. Had it been a dream? He was not sure. If it had been, then the vividness of it was unlike any dream he had hitherto been visited with.

He was afforded a wonderful opportunity to observe her as she slept, unknowing. His eyes misted as he continued to stare at her. This woman who had betrayed him was in his blood, his very soul. He could no more stop loving her than he could stop writing the music that sang through him, music that was divinely inspired, although the fires of hell attended its birth.

He attempted to move his large body closer to the edge of the bed, placing his uninjured elbow on the mattress for leverage. Half-sitting up, he made a great effort, and succeeded at last in lifting his torso from the bed. His head began to pound as if a fiend with a mallet had taken up residence within it, and the room suddenly seemed to spin maddeningly around him. He absolutely refused to lie down again, however. He could feel his strength returning, as well as an overpowering need to speak with Christine, in light of their mutually shared experience in a world that knew no time, no pain, no unrequited love. So he remained sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, fighting the dizziness and the pounding headache. At once, he was overtaken by a ravening hunger. Glancing over at Christine, he saw she was still deeply asleep. He did not wish to disturb her innocent slumber. Taking in a deep breath, he then attempted to rise from the bed.

Christine was abruptly awakened, in the middle of the sweetest dream, by an impossibly loud thud. Opening her eyes wide, panting with fright, she looked down at the floor, and met the sight of Erik sprawled out upon it. For a few seconds, she was too shocked to do anything, but then, she swiftly stood up and bent over him.

"Erik!" she screamed, feeling the greatest fear of her life: the possibility of his death.

He answered with a muffled groan, and she was momentarily reassured. She gently explored his wounded arm, and touched the pulse at his throat. His breathing, although a bit labored, was not dangerously so. Now she had a dilemma. How could she help him up, since he was so much larger and heavier than she? It was obvious that he could not get up by himself. With a despairing sigh, she realized that she would have to go for help. Perhaps one of the staff at the inn would be willing to assist her. Her other option was Raoul, but she doubted that he would consent to help her. For this she could not blame him.

Her darting thoughts were interrupted by his voice, which was laced with pain. "Christine...Help me up..."

"Erik," she replied in consternation, "you are much too heavy for me!"

She looked around the room desperately, as he continued to groan. Her eyes fastened on the chair she had slept in. Why had it not occurred to her sooner? Grabbing its arms, she exerted all her strength, but it would not budge. Then she moved around behind it, and began pushing it toward Erik. She was able to move it within his reach.

Erik hooked a leg around one of the chair legs, and dragged it around to his good arm. Then he painfully hoisted himself up, swearing as he did so. Christine blushed at the colorful expletives, but said nothing, knowing full well that he must be in terrible pain. She moved forward, grabbing his waist, pulling him up as hard as she could. He groaned again, through his teeth, and, with her help, lowered himself into the chair at last, letting out an explosive sigh as he did so. Settling himself in the chair, panting heavily with the effort, he closed his eyes, and longingly called her name.

"Erik," she answered immediately, grasping his good hand. She sank to her knees next to the chair, and, moving closer to him, caressed his left cheek, then feathered a kiss upon it. Erik's reaction was immediate. His hand tightened on hers, while he turned his head, eyes still closed, seeking her mouth. She moved her lips to his, and they fervently kissed, with all the ardor of lovers who have been long parted. She brought her hands up to hold his head, allowing him to deepen the kiss, to thrust his tongue into her mouth. He groaned in delicious torment, drinking her in like a man parched with thirst in the desert. Christine was quickly caught up in his rising passion, but her concern for him would not let her be swept away. He was still too weak, although there was a noticeable improvement, as compared to the day before. Still, it was much too soon for this. So she gently brought her arms back down, pulling away from his possessive mouth. His answering moan shot shivers through her. She was panting heavily, wanting him with all her might. It took all her inner strength not to give in to the demands of both their bodies. She did not move away from him, however, but sat back on her thighs, looking intently at him, her eyes moist.

Erik opened his eyes then, and met her shining gaze. His throat tightened with emotion, which he fought to control. His good hand moved as if on its own, wanting to grasp hers again. She slid her hand into his, and he squeezed it as he stared at her. An eloquent silence reigned between them for a few moments. Then, he spoke.

"Do you remember, Christine?" His voice was a caressing whisper.

She smiled, knowing at once what he was referring to. "My father gave us his blessing..." Tears slipped from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks.

"Then why, my love?" The abject pain in his voice accused her, knifing through her. "Why did you leave me?"

She lowered her head, her tears flowing more freely now. The suffering contained in his whispered questions struck her to the heart. She would have preferred for him to rage at her. That she knew she deserved, and would have taken the punishment meekly. But this...she was overcome with guilt and anguish. She had practically destroyed him, and yet, he had come after her. The pull she had on him was formidable. Hurt as he had been by her rejection, he had still pursued her. She could not comprehend such love. Or was it simply obsession? If such it was, then it was a truly magnificent one. No one had loved her thus. Raoul's love could not compare...

He withdrew her hand from his, and brought it under her chin. Gently he moved her head up, and she allowed him to. Their eyes met once more.

"You have torn out my heart," he said, quietly. "I thought I would surely die. Then I was filled with rage, and that prompted me to come looking for you. I have followed you all the way from Paris, waiting for the right moment to tear you away from that blasted Vicomte."

He paused, his breathing having suddenly grown difficult. Christine waited, saying nothing, understanding that he must unburden himself.

"Patiently I followed you both," he went on, closing his eyes, the anguish tearing at him. "I watched and waited from a distance. I saw how he put his arms around you. I saw all the solicitousness of a man in love. And yet, that love could not possibly compare to mine..."

He now opened his eyes, and she was thrust into his inner torment, for his pupils blazed at her. He ground his teeth in anger.

"I was forced to see another man put his hands on the woman who belongs to me! I determined to murder him, to take you from him, to make you love me!" His features contorted with fury.

She dared to bring her free hand up to caress his cheek. "Yet you did none of those things, Erik...Instead, you saved Raoul's life, and my own, as well..."

The touch of her hand was like a balm to his raw pain. His eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Can you forgive me?" she continued, softly. "I have been dreaming steadily of you all the way from Paris...My sleeping mind always knew the truth about our love."

"Then I must once more ask you why, Christine. Why torture us both in this fashion?"

She lowered her head briefly, then brought it back up, meeting his gaze honestly. "It was fear...fear of you, of what a future with you would mean...Now I know that I cannot fight this, Erik. My heart will not allow me to do so any longer."

He sighed, realizing that he could no more punish her than he could bear to be away from her. "Then we must remedy this situation as soon as we are able. You spoke with the Vicomte yesterday, as I recall. What was the outcome of that conversation?"

"He knows that I do not love him as I do you, Erik. Our engagement is effectively terminated. I imagine he will leave us, if he has not done so already."

Erik was about to answer this, when a knock on the door surprised them both. They stilled, not daring to breathe, both thinking the same thought.

"Christine?" They heard the Vicomte's voice from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"

"Erik, please," she whispered, feeling the sudden tension in him as he grasped her hand with a vise-like grip. "You did save his life, after all."

"Much to my regret," he answered through his teeth.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and, raising her voice a little called out, "You may come in, Raoul."

The door opened, and the Vicomte hesitantly entered the room, to be met with the rabidly furious eyes of the former Phantom of the Opera.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Erik the Phantom, and yet he owns me...Neither do I own the rest of the characters invented by Leroux, except for any that I might have created for this story.**

**Chapter 7: A Love Unerring**

Raoul was met with a most unwelcome sight as he slowly opened the door. There she was, her hand tightly enclosed in Erik's good hand, as she knelt next to his chair. They both faced him as one. He realized that he was the intruder here, having been totally shut out. Sadness overwhelmed him, but he attempted to squelch it. He must show no weakness before this most formidable foe.

No one spoke for several long minutes. Then, it was Christine who broke the heavy silence.

"Raoul...as you can see...Erik is healing. He should soon be able to..."

"To what, Christine?" He found he could not keep the sadness out of his voice, after all. "To take you away from me? Yes, I suppose he will soon be strong enough to walk out of here, with you on his arm!"

Christine held a restraining hand on Erik's shoulder as she felt his muscles flexing in anger.

"Come now, my dear Vicomte!" he said through his teeth. "Surely you must have known that she could never belong to you! She has been mine long before you ever saw her!"

Raoul smiled, his anger beginning to rise, as well. "Is that so, you shameless murderer? Has she not told you that we were childhood friends in Sweden? I have loved her ever since I saw her, playing with the scarf that blew out into the ocean, and which I retrieved for her!"

Growing increasingly more passionate, he went on. "Her father, God rest his wonderful soul, told us stories of the North, on blustery winter nights! We were playmates, we loved each other in our childish fashion, but my heart loved her with the love of a man!"

"Raoul, please..." Christine's eyes held sadness, as well.

The Vicomte's chest heaved in anger. "What next, Christine? Will you ask for my understanding? Yes, of course...you wish me to be gone as expeditiously as possible, do you not, now that you have been reunited with your monster!"

At these words, Erik wrenched his good hand from Christine's, and, holding on to one of the chair's arms, attempted to get up. His face was contorted with a bloodthirsty rage.

"Erik!" Christine cried out, her voice full of fear. "You will hurt yourself!" Grasping his arm, she did her best to restrain him. Erik, however, was too furious to allow her to deter him. He was able to pull himself up to his full height, and stood firmly in front of the chair.

"Monsieur..." his breath hissed venomously through his teeth. "You may thank Mademoiselle Daae for the fact that you still live! Were she not present, I would not hesitate to crush your words in your throat!"

Christine was totally appalled, although she herself had witnessed Erik's powerful anger on more than one occasion. However, she was shocked at the depth of his hatred for Raoul. It was even more daunting to hear him give full vent to this hatred in her presence. Raoul, noticing her reaction at once, was quick to take advantage of it.

"Well, my dear Phantom...it seems your beloved can now see for herself exactly what sort of a monster you really are...This doesn't bode well for your future relationship with her, I daresay!" He smiled quite smugly as he finished speaking.

Erik felt as if his rival had struck a mortal blow to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Slowly, he turned to Christine, and saw for himself the anguish and fear on her face. She was also very close to tears. Defeated, he gingerly sank back into the chair, seeking her eyes. When she avoided them, he groaned from the depths of his soul, leaning his head on the back of the chair and closing his eyes wearily. The specter of Death immediately rose to taunt him. It would indeed be a most welcome one, if Christine were to leave him once more. He knew he would not be able to survive this time...

Christine painfully looked up at him, her eyes now brimming with tears. She grasped his hand, which hung limply by his side, and kissed it, then caressed it with her now tear-stained cheek. When he did not react, she began to sob, calling out his name softly, and laid her head on his chest. "Erik..." she whispered between sobs. "Remember...you saved his life just the other day...Please...no more talk of killing..." She broke into loud sobbing as she clung to him.

"Christine," Raoul said softly, as he looked down upon them. "I find that I am unable to let you go...I must have you as my wife. You will lack for nothing, my love! Most of all, you will have a devoted husband, without a shadowy past that would haunt our lives forever! I can overlook this as the result of the hypnotic effect this man has always had on you. But surely you must realize that you cannot possibly live with such a man! What if his rage should one day turn on you? I know you do feel something for me...Oh, say that you do, and make me the happiest man in the world!"

Erik heard each of these impassioned words, which might have been spoken by him, and sighed deeply. Each one was a deadly knife, ripping at his heart. His spirit was vanquished. Surely she would respond to the Vicomte's desperate plea. Surely she would now come to realize that she could never be happy with a man who would not hesitate to kill, coldly and efficiently, when sufficiently provoked. His other-worldly experience with her had been nothing but a dream, and had never really happened, he told himself. He braced himself for her rejection, his muscles loosening in utter defeat. Then, to his great and joyous surprise, he felt her stir, and move up to the level of his face, which she took in her hands, pressing a kiss upon his lips. Thereupon she stood, to face Raoul.

"My choice has been made, Raoul. It has not been an easy one, as I do feel love toward you. It is the deep love one would feel for a very dear friend. I shall always treasure the memories of our childhood. But you must know that the love I feel for Erik is of an entirely different order...It knows no bounds, and fills my heart and soul with an ecstasy I have no words for...I love him, such as he is. I do not condone his actions, but you have not taken into account all he has suffered, the cruelty he has undergone for most of his life. His conscience has been twisted to an alarming degree. Yet, I see the goodness shining in him. I believe in that goodness, Raoul. And even if I did not, my heart cannot feel otherwise. Love is completely irrational. It needs no reasons for its existence, but is merely itself...I would like to remain your friend, but I am aware that this may not be possible, given the circumstances. I hope you will be able to forgive me one day, for leading you to believe that we could have a future together. You should understand that this was motivated by my fear...a fear I must endeavor to overcome. I do not think that Erik could ever really bring himself to hurt me. Please do forgive me, Raoul. You will in time find another woman who can return your great love, for you are truly deserving of it!"

Erik slowly opened his eyes to gaze upon the scene. She was speaking firmly to the Vicomte, who stood before her, almost impassively, stoically enduring what must have been very painful moments. She was breaking off her engagement to the handsome young aristocrat! She was choosing him, a horribly disfigured murderer!

Christine now brought her left hand up, and with her right hand, gently removed the ring Raoul had previously given her. She then picked up his left hand, which he unresistingly yielded to her, opened its palm, and deposited the ring upon it, thereafter closing his fingers over it.

'You are free, Raoul..." she whispered, tears in her voice. "I release you from our engagement. Please go, and may the blessing of the Almighty be upon you..."

Raoul looked upon her stricken face, his own full of the greatest pain he had ever felt. Their eyes met, and he read hers quite easily, for the emotion reflected in them spoke more eloquently than any words might have done. He lowered the hand that held the ring in it, and with the other, picked up her left hand, now no longer wearing the token of his love. He kissed it very respectfully, and then straightened, to look once more into her eyes.

"I must accept your choice, Christine, although it pains me so..." His voice broke. "I wish you both the greatest happiness in your life together. Unfortunately, I cannot be your friend. It would cause me fresh anguish to remain within the confines of friendship in your presence, as I will always wish to be so much more to you...Be happy, and be well, with God's help."

He could say no more, as he feared losing his composure entirely. Turning, he blindly groped for the doorknob. Finding it, he turned it, and swiftly exited the room.

With a cry, Christine knelt once more by Erik's chair, laying her head in his lap, and wrapping her arms around him. He, with loudly pounding heart and tears streaming down his face, brought his good hand to her hair, caressing it softly, tenderly, possessively.

"Christine..." he whispered, his soul having been set free at last to love completely, and to have that love returned. "Christine...my love, my angel, my darling...I love you, I love you, I love you..."

She brought her head up, and moved her body so that it was placed between his legs, her face level with his own. The ensuing kiss was consuming, burning into their hearts with its passion. Her arms locked around his neck, and he brought both arms up to embrace her, even though his wounded arm pained him. Thus they remained for a long time, as the rays of the morning sun slanted into their room, and the day effortlessly lifted its wings into the brilliant sky.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Thanks to Gaston, Erik exists. Thanks to Susan, he has become a full-fledged human being. Thanks to Andrew, we now have the music of the night...And, thanks to all of us phan writers, we have...Erik and Christine, as they were meant to be: together!**

**Chapter 8: And Love Remains**

They were lost in each other for long moments. From her mouth, Erik moved his lips down her neck, blissfully savoring her soft skin. Christine took a deep breath, letting it out on a sigh as she felt his lips fluttering along the length of her neck. She tilted her head back in reckless abandon.

"Oh, my love..." he murmured, with barely restrained passion. She could not speak, but simply allowed him to worship her with his mouth. At length, she stirred, and, bringing her head down, grasped the back of his neck with one hand, looking directly into his eyes.

"Erik, you must have some breakfast. You have not eaten anything for the last two days..."

"Yes," he assented, lowering his eyes as he continued to allow his mouth to wander all over her neck. "Right now, I am not hungry for food, my sweet."

She tried to untangle herself from his embrace. "No, Erik, you mustn't," she protested. "You should return to bed. You are still much too weak. Please, darling, let me assist you."

His breathing was already coming in short gasps, and he restrained her with one hand when she attempted to rise. In his weakened state, however, he could not exert enough strength to prevent her from getting up, and so had to allow her to do so, to his chagrin.

Christine, smiling, picked up his good hand and kissed it. "Let me help you up, my angel," she said as she bent down and put her arms around him.

Grunting with the effort, Erik pushed down on the chair arm with his good hand, while Christine did her best to pull him up. After one or two tries, he at last stood. They then walked over to the bed together, slowly, with Erik leaning heavily on her. She helped him to sit on the mattress, and then held his legs while he swung the rest of his large frame onto the bed. He lay his head on the pillow, slightly winded by the effort. Christine watched him anxiously, standing next to the bed.

"Do not fear, my sweet," he managed to say, his eyes on hers. "I will be regaining my strength very shortly, and then..." He chuckled softly, as his gaze began to turn intense. "I will not be responsible for my actions," he finished, with a very wolfish grin.

Christine smiled, blushing a bit. "You must not think of such things now, you charming rogue! Your health is all that matters now. I shall go and inquire about having breakfast brought up for you."

He stirred uneasily, and held out his good hand to her. "Will you return soon?" he asked, as earnestly as a child would.

Smilling again, she took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Indeed I will, my love." She then walked over to the door, turning when she reached it, to blow a kiss over to him.

"Christine, I love you!" he could not help exclaiming, half raising his head from the pillow. She answered in kind.

When she had closed the door gently behind her, he let his head drop back onto the pillow, sighing with exasperation. He was not accustomed to being abed, unable to move about freely. As he closed his eyes once more, his mind began to bring back to him images from the past several days.

He had followed her minutes after she left the Opera House with Raoul, pulled inexorably toward her in spite of her apparent rejection. Now he knew that she had never really rejected him at all. She had been terrified of him, and this had prompted her to run to Raoul. _Blast that Vicomte!_ he thought, angrily. Why had he ever been in her life at all?

He now recalled that strange, other-worldly experience he and Christine had shared. Yes, it had been totally real. She truly belonged to him. She had confessed her love for him to Raoul, making it quite clear that her feelings for the young aristocrat could not possibly compare with the fierce love she felt for the former Phantom of the Opera. He could not quite believe it. She had wounded his heart so deeply that he found it hard to accept the fact that she was, indeed, his. Moving restlessly on the bed, he opened his eyes, letting them wander over the room. His mind was sharp and clear, but he had no idea where he was staying. He now wondered whether it was the wretched boy's money that was paying for their stay...

Just when he was beginning to think that she was taking much too long to return, the door swung open, and a young maid came through, bearing a tray of wonderfully-smelling food. Christine was right behind her. She took the tray from the maid at the door, after digging into one of her dress pockets and extracting money for a tip. The maid, smiling shyly, curtsied, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Erik grunted in annoyance. "That was some of the boy's money you gave her, was it not?"

Christine sighed as she carried the tray over to the night table. "Yes," she grudgingly admitted, as she put the tray down, coming to stand next to the bed. "He has graciously paid for our stay here."

Erik groaned. He could not tolerate the thought of being beholden to any man, and least of all, this particular one.

"Why? And for how long?"

She looked down at her hands, which she folded together. "For as long as it takes you to recover, Erik. He...wanted to do this. For me. For my happiness...You see, he loves me. I did not want to take his money, but is there any other alternative?"

"Christine, I do not understand why you would accept this! It is an insult to our love!"

"Now, Erik, please...remember that you were unconscious, and in great danger! Someone had to pay for the inn! I ...do have some money of my own, but it isn't much, and Raoul would not let me use it anyway..."

Erik looked at her, noticing the distress displayed on her face. Not wishing to cause her more pain, he decided to let the matter drop.

"All right, then, my love. You must be aware by now that I had brought some money with me. You do have the pouch I was carrying with me, do you not?"

"Yes, it's stored away. I did find some money in it. Will it be enough, do you think?"

"Do not worry, my sweet. I have the means to acquire more when that runs out."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "Erik, you're not planning to do anything illegal, are you?"

He felt a surge of anger as she said this, but stifled it immediately. "No, I am most certainly not! I was thinking that I should perhaps return to my previous occupation of wandering magician..."

When she looked at him in anguished disbelief, he snorted in laughter. "I was merely joking, my sweet! No, I actually own some property, in a small town not far from Paris, and I have someone who collects rent for me, then discreetly deposits it in a bank in the city. You forget that I also had my monthly income from the owners of the Opera House. It's all there, quite safe, I assure you. When I am able to travel, we must return to the city and withdraw as much as necessary for our needs."

She expelled a breath of relief. "Well, then, my love, you must now eat! Are you able to sit up?" As she said this, she went over to the night table, and picked up the tray, which she brought to him. He managed to pull himself up, and she laid the tray on his lap.

Erik was surprised by how hungry he was when he put the first forkful of food in his mouth. He proceeded to bolt the rest of the breakfast down as if it were the last meal of his life. The scrambled eggs were done just right, and the cream of strawberries was not overly sweet. The _cafe au lait _was surely the best that he had ever drunk, and the _croissant au beurre_ had just the right amount of flakiness to it. In all, he was suddenly quite glad to be French. Christine had pushed the heavy armchair over to his side, and now sat next to him, smilingly watching him as he consumed the meal in very short order.

He suddenly stopped to gaze at her, just before he put another bite into his mouth. "Are you not going to join me, my sweet?" he worriedly inquired.

She laughed lightly. "I have already had my breakfast, _mon ange_. Eat in peace, so that you may regain your considerable strength as quickly as possible. I really do miss being carried in your arms..." As she said these last words, she gave him a coy glance, then shyly ducked her head, feeling a slow burn begin on her cheeks.

"Ah, the maiden blushes! I think that I shall recover sooner than I had anticipated...so that you shall not remain a maiden for very much longer..." He gave her another of his wolfish grins, which had a definite effect on her -- she felt a sudden surge of heat. She rose at once, and walked over to the window. From there, she could see the surf pounding on the shore. It was a beautiful day in early fall, and, although perhaps a bit chilly, if they brought their cloaks with them, they might be able to take a stroll right by the water's edge. Then she remembered, with a jolt, that Erik had nothing to cover his face with! She whirled around.

"Erik," she now exclaimed, with a worried frown, "you have no mask for your face when you are ready to go out!"

"My dear, sweet Christine...do you not know that I always make sure to carry a spare mask? Go to my pouch, darling, and you will find it there. You did say it is safely stored, is that not so?"

She mutely assented, sighing in relief.

"Here, now, I have finished." He lay back with a contented sigh. "Would you read something to me? You will find a book in my pouch. It is Les Fleurs du Mal, by Charles Baudelaire. You must have heard of it, I'm sure."

"Yes, I have heard one of the ballet girls mention it. I will bring it at once."

She stood to take his tray, which she took with her as she once more exited the room. She soon returned, the book in one hand, and his mask in the other. She sat on the chair again as she began thumbing through the pages.

"Which one shall I start with, Erik?"

With a glint in his eyes, he mischievously answered, "Why, the most passionate one you can possibly find, my sweetly tempting morsel!"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well, we shall see how these "star-crossed lovers" (move over, Romeo and Juliet!) shall fare in the future...Is there a wedding in sight? Is Raoul really and truly gone? Keep reading, fellow phans! (huge grin)**

**Chapter 9: The Lover Thwarted Once More...**

The days that followed were tranquil and blissful. Erik remained in bed most of the day, while Christine stayed faithfully by his side, making sure that he ate well, and attending to his personal toilette. She even bathed him, although the first time she did so proved to be very uncomfortable for her, as she found it extremely hard to resist his charms and effortless sensuality...

Erik was greatly amused by her discomfort. He knew that she had never seen a naked man before, and chuckled at her maidenly modesty. He was pleased with it, of course, although he himself was also a virgin. Ah, but how many times had he bedded her in his lascivious thoughts?

Her cheeks turned a most becoming shade of red as she removed his clothing for the first time. She tried not to look, but she was forced to, in order to see what she was doing...His chest was expansively masculine, with enough hair on it to make her sigh involuntarily. It was just perfect. She could not abide hairy men, she thought to herself, as she stared at it, bemused.

His soft, very male laugh interrupted her thoughts. "Do you like what you see, my love?" His whisper was like a sensuous caress on her heated skin, and she stirred, ducking her head shyly. He had caught her staring at his chest! This would not do at all...

She abruptly stood. "Perhaps someone else should bathe you, Erik, though I know not who would be willing to do so," she said, sighing. She could feel her hands trembling ever so slightly.

He caught one of her hands as she prepared to step away from the bathtub. "But it is you whose touch I wish to feel upon my skin..." The flowing sound of that incredibly melodious voice stole over her senses with its blatantly sexual tones.

"Touch me, Christine..." He was begging, shamelessly, as he gently massaged her hand, which lay limply in his. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, and she felt herself slowly beginning to sink into a vortex of desire...

She brought herself out of it by sheer force of will. "Erik, I...cannot do this. If I put my hands upon your body, more will ensue. I am not ready for such things...not yet...and you are not yet fully recovered. You mustn't strain yourself." She shuddered, and managed to pull her hand out of his, stepping away from the tub. She was unable to leave his side entirely, however, but remained standing nearby, trembling.

Erik reached out to her with his good hand, but she refused to come any closer to him.

"Come, my love, and finish bathing me. I promise you that I shall not compromise your modesty. When I am well and able to use both hands, you will most certainly have to fend me off!"

She knew not how, but she was able to continue, forcing herself to keep her eyes averted as much as possible, and allowing the washcloth to do most of the work. She felt his eyes on her throughout, although he did not speak during the entire ritual. She endured his silent scrutiny in mortified silence, trying to fight off her own arousal when she suddenly became aware of his, as she washed a certain part of his body...

In time she became used to doing this for him, having succeeded in seeing herself as a nurse tending to one of her patients. He, on the other hand, had a most difficult time controlling his desire. As the days passed, it grew increasingly difficult for him. Her gentle touch, whenever he felt it, sent delicious shivers of pleasure through his body, and he yearned to take her in his arms, to possess her body, to make her wholly his. His dreams were full of her. Their sweaty, straining bodies slid over and under each other, as they pressed together, he plunging into her with crazed abandon, she arching her hips up to meet his, joyfully receiving his thrusts as she surrendered completely to him. After such a dream, he usually awoke drenched in sweat, wondering if it had simply been a dream. He would turn to look at her, sleeping so trustingly on a cot next to his bed. He marveled at her sweet innocence, his heart bursting with love for her. He would gaze tenderly at her for a very long time, leaning on the elbow of his good arm, and then slowly lie back again on the bed, to drift into more dreams of her...

She usually spent the afternoons reading to him. She read all the poems in the Baudelaire book. He would frequently ask her to re- read certain poems, at times requesting that she linger on certain phrases that were rich in meaning and flowing music. She complied, finding that these phrases touched her own soul, as well. She would then look into his eyes when she finished reading them, and smiled, letting him know that she, too, understood the beauty in the poet's words. Erik felt his heart swell with love and pride. He and his beloved were truly one, he told himself. They perceived the same things, understood the same music, be it that of musical notes, or masterfully written poetry...

One morning, he awoke early, as was his custom, and promptly pulled himself up on his good elbow to gaze at her as she slept. He was seized by sudden inspiration, and his eyes roamed the room, looking for paper and any writing instrument that might be available. He saw nothing on the dresser top, or the night table next to the bed. There just might be something in the night table drawer, he mused. If he stretched out his good hand, which, thank God, happened to be his left, active hand, he might be able to open the drawer...

He had just managed to open it slightly, when he heard her sweet voice.

"Good morning, Erik," she said, a smile in her voice. "What are you up to, you roguish devil?"

He turned to her, smiling sensuously. "Am I to take that remark as an invitation, Mademoiselle?" He slowly licked his lips, staring at her as if she were a piece of delectable French pastry he meant to devour.

She ducked her head, blushing mightily. "Really, Erik! You must stop looking at me like that!"

He sighed contentedly, smiling down at her. "You are right, my love. We do have a lifetime of wonderful, explosive lovemaking to look forward to, after all!"

She laughed as well, and could not resist teasing him a little. "You sound quite sure of yourself, Monsieur! Why would we have a lifetime together? I have not accepted your non-existent proposal of marriage!"

His mood changed at once to one of seriousness. "You know very well, my love, that I want you to be my wife. And you know just as well what a good wife's duty to her husband is, do you not?" He ended on a mischievous laugh.

"Oh, Erik! You are insufferable!" She laughed, blushing even more than before.

"So, Christine..." his breath caught in his throat, but he continued, "will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife? I have no ring as yet, my sweet, but, as soon as I am able to move about, we will definitely say our vows before a priest!"

She smiled at him as her eyes began to grow misty. "I have already accepted, Erik, with all my heart." Rising from the cot, she went to him, and sighed deeply as he enfolded her in his arms, not without some difficulty, as his wounded arm still pained him. She kissed him gently on the forehead, and he frowned in mock anger.

"Pray tell, Mademoiselle, what sort of kiss is that for your soon-to-be husband?"

Pulling herself out of his arms, she smiled down at him, and blew him a kiss. "I believe you were looking for something in the drawer, were you not?"

He grinned. "Well, I see that Mademoiselle Daae has a mind of her own! Are you not to obey your husband, as the Lord commands?"

Her merry laugh delighted him. "You are not my husband as yet! And besides, I do not at all agree with that part of the marriage vows! Now, dear sir, will you kindly tell me what you were seeking in the night table drawer?"

He grew serious again. "I need paper and a drawing implement, as I am feeling a powerful desire to draw your lovely likeness. You will pose for me, of course, will you not?"

She was taken slightly by surprise. "I had no idea that you were a draughtsman as well! Oh, but I had forgotten... you have done architectural renderings. I suppose it wouldn't be too difficult, then, for you to be able to draw people as well." As she spoke, she opened the drawer, and extracted some paper, as well as a beautifully feathered pen, together with a full inkwell. Turning, she put these items into his hands, and eagerly sat back down upon the cot. "Where shall I pose for you, Erik?"

"First, please push the night table closer to me. Then, kindly remove all your clothing."

"What!" She squealed, jolted by such a request. Then she frowned at him, for he was lying back on the bed, laughing hysterically at the stricken expression on her face.

"You...you..." she sputtered, flustered. "You are all kinds of a knave, sir!"

"Oh, Christine...come, now! Would you not like to please your betrothed? Hmmm?" He resumed his laughter, which was contagious, she had to admit. She ended up laughing right along with him.

After a few minutes, they recovered, and Erik told her, still panting for breath, "Just recline on the cot, my love, in your most comfortable position. The rest will be up to me."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, then got up to push the night table close to the bed, so he could place the drawing paper upon it. She then went back to the cot, to recline upon it, as he had requested.

Christine had not laughed thus in the longest time, and was feeling quite content in his presence. How could she have ever contemplated a life with the Vicomte? With Erik, there would never be a dull moment...


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Christine is finding it increasingly more difficult to hold Erik at bay...We females can certainly understand...How many of us would be able to resist this man? She has her principles, nevertheless, and this _is_ the 19th century...I have revised this chapter in order to have it reflect these realities.**

**Chapter 10: The Bud Bursts Into Bloom...Or Does It? **

Reclining on the cot, she arranged her skirts about her, facing him with her most radiant smile. Erik smiled as well, but then abruptly made an attempt to rise.

She was immediately apprehensive. "Erik! Why are you getting up? Your arm..."

"I am quite all right, my sweet," he replied, as he grasped a cushion from the nearby settee, and tossed it to her. "Here. Lean your elbow on this cushion."

She obligingly put the cushion underneath her elbow, and once more took up her position. He studied her calmly for a few seconds, and then settled down to work, satisfied. "Hold your position for as long as you are able, my love," he instructed, while he began skillfully blocking in his composition with the pen, dipping it quite frequently into the inkwell.

Silence dropped over them, and the only sound to be heard was that of the pen scratching on the paper, as Erik drew, at first in broad, bold strokes, accompanied by muttered curses referring to the inadequacy of his instrument. Then, he began to firm up his strokes as he put in details.

Christine was fascinated, watching him work. He gave her the impression of a clinically precise surgeon, sharply focused on his subject, as he analyzed her figure, and the shapes around her, with unerring determination. He was seeing her, he would explain later, not as Christine, the woman he loved, but as a series of shapes, interlocking with each other, as well as the space around them. However, once he had the composition and drawing firmly in hand, he could then afford the luxury of coming out of his artistic detachment, to see once more the object of his eternal devotion. Thus he could imbue the drawing with all the passionate adoration he felt for her, while at the same time making a bold compositional statement.

She fell easily into the spell he wove about her, once more becoming the muse who inspired the fire of his endless creativity. When at last the drawing was finished, or rather, when Erik deemed it ready for contemplation, he looked up from the paper, nodding at her. She arose, a bit stiffly, to go take a look at it. What she saw simply took her breath away. The woman depicted on the paper seemed to be alive, breathing, and appeared to be surrounded by real atmosphere. Her weight was solidly supported by the cot she lay on. Each line of her flowing gown formed part of the total scaffolding of her figure. She was firmly ensconced in the space of the drawing, with sculptural majesty. Her face bore an enigmatic smile, somewhat reminiscent of that adorning the face of "La Gioconda", otherwise known as the "Mona Lisa". Yet, her smile was totally hers, and Erik had masterfully captured it with a lover's keen, adoring eye.

She was totally mesmerized, as well as deeply moved. Words would not come to her, and she could not contain her astonishment.

At length, Erik cleared his throat, gazing fixedly at her while a slight smile played about his own lips. "I perceive that you are quite pleased with it, Christine," he remarked at last.

She turned radiant eyes upon him. "Pleased? Oh, Erik, it is a masterpiece! How have you been able to capture the essence of who I am?"

He was visibly moved, and, picking up one of her hands, kissed it, then brought it up to his face. Taking a deep breath, and keeping his eyes firmly locked with hers, he whispered, "I, too, have seen the face of your soul, my beautiful Christine..."

Her eyes at once filled with tears, and she went into his arms as he laid the drawing aside. He wrapped her firmly into his embrace, crooning softly to her, using any endearment he could think of to convey the depth of his love. They lay back on the bed, she with her head on his chest, he resting his chin on the top of her head. His hand began caressing her curls, almost of its own volition.

"My love..." he murmured, with all the ardor of a man totally obsessed with his beloved. "Oh, my love..."

She brought her head up to look into his eyes. What he saw in them made his heart sing with gladness. She loved him. She really and truly loved him, with all of her self, soul and body. She was his, and he wanted to make her life with him a pure delight. He wanted her to feel nothing but happiness at his side, forever...

Christine felt as though her soul was slowly melting into his...She brought her lips closer, tenderly brushing his, as her eyes closed. She sighed in contentment. Erik shuddered with restrained desire. He returned her kiss, blissfully opening his mouth, requesting admittance to hers. When she gave it, he groaned in pleasure, and thrust his tongue boldly in. Her tongue met his just as boldly, and thus they began a dance of moist embraces. He tightened his hold upon her, and she squirmed higher, so that she now lay fully upon his body. Fire enveloped them as their kiss deepened, as their two impassioned selves sought to join irrevocably into one.

Erik's left hand held her waist, while his still somewhat painful right hand moved slowly to gingerly caress her back. They continued to kiss, breaking off occasionally to nuzzle each other's necks, to travel over each other's features with panting breath, gazing into each other's eyes with sweet, soulful intensity...

Christine suddenly lifted her head, and Erik opened his eyes to look at her in a haze of love and passion. "What is it, my beloved?"

His voice poured over her like warm sunshine, leaving her limp with pleasure and a love so fierce it threatened to engulf her.

"Erik..." Her voice was not her own. It had become a husky, love-filled whisper, and dripped like honey over his senses, setting them aflame. "We...must stop, before we are unable to do so...I...am feeling...Oh, my love...I cannot...be with you like this, not yet...Ah, my love!" As she said this, she tearfully tore herself from his arms, and stood, rather shakily.

Her eyes, when they met his once more, were pools of endless desire. She turned from him, however, and walked slowly to the window, her hands trembling as she pulled them up to her hair, attempting to re-arrange its disarray.

He felt a jolt of searing pleasure in his groin as he observed her. She was obviously doing her best to control her rising passion, and he was mortified, but pleased as well, that he was having such an effect on her.

"In my heart, you are already my wife, Christine..." His voice was husky as well. He hesitated, then went on. "But, despite all my teasing, I really do not wish to pressure you into doing something you really are not ready for ."

She sighed, and an errant tear slipped down her cheek as she turned back to him. "Would you...like me to sit for you again, Erik? Or perhaps," she added quickly, "we should have some breakfast first. Are you not hungry?"

He smiled his wolfish smile, as his eyes roved over her, bringing a very becoming blush to her cheeks. "Indeed, I am, my sweet..." he said, so sensuously that she was suddenly quite out of breath. "It is you I hunger for!"

She was unable to answer as she stared at him, her body dictating its own commands to her, while her conscience strove to hold it in check. Erik was aware that her mind was waging an intense battle with her heart.

There was a long pause, one laden with the sparks of an almost unbearable sexual tension. Their eyes were heatedly devouring each other. They could not tear their gaze from each other...

Erik's breathing was becoming irregular and shallow, while his eyes gave hers a hint of the sensual assault he meant to subject her to, if she would only consent to it. For a moment, he firmly believed that she would succumb, making his happiness complete. Although he had every intention of marrying her, he was finding it sheer torture to be near her every day and night, without being able to touch her as he wanted to touch her -- with a lover's sure, intimate caress...

She turned from him again, breaking eye contact with him. "I must really see to our breakfast, Erik," she mumbled, as she pulled the door open more forcefully than necessary. She inexplicably paused on the threshold, taking a deep breath. He was chagrined when she did not turn back to him as he was hoping she would, but resolutely stepped out of the room, firmly closing the door behind her.

Erik let out his breath all at once, allowing his body to sink into the mattress, hoping he could stem the flow of his arousal. He wanted her so badly he could almost feel her body once again on his, this time unclothed, and moving in the seductively slow rhythms of love...He closed his eyes, then, and pictured her, gloriously naked beneath him, while he stroked her flaming center, sweetly, oh, so sweetly, her little moans of pleasure nearly pushing him over the edge...

He snapped his eyes open, forcing himself to sit up in bed. Taking another deep breath, he mentally reminded himself that he had to give her some time. After all, she was a well-brought up, rather sheltered young lady, in spite of the worldly influence she must have encountered in the dressing rooms of the Opera House. He could not expect to bed her without a romantic ritual of seduction, and he knew that she would prefer this to be preceded by a ring, accompanied by a wedding ceremony. Ah, but she, too, was being tempted mightily...He grinned with masculine pride. She was completely his. There was no doubt about it. It would simply take some time and romance to convince her that, wedding or no wedding, they were meant to be joined in every way...

His eyes wandered over to the drawing, which he had placed on top of the night table. He sighed as he stared at it. Her soul shone forth from those eyes that captivated him so, and he was drawn into them just as though the real woman were sitting before him. Her beauty went beyond the merely physical, and this was what made her so irresistible to him. Leaning over with a bemused smile upon his lips, he gently picked up the drawing, studying it intensely for a few minutes. He must really have her sit for him again, and many more times to come. He would never tire of gazing upon her loveliness, setting it down on paper with incisive precision and loving detail...

It suddenly occurred to him that he wanted to paint her portrait , as well. This would be quite interesting, as he had never actually painted before, but he had no doubt that he would have no trouble mastering the intricacies of the medium. He remembered having read something about the painting methods of the great masters. Ah, but then, he was beginning to hear about this avant-garde fellow named Cezanne...Erik had seen one of his canvases, not long before the unfortunate fire at the Opera Populaire. Quite interesting, indeed. He pursed his lips as he continued to study the drawing. His swift mind was already beginning to plan out the laying in of the background, the mixing of the colors with linseed oil, as he dimly heard the door open, and the delicious aroma of food softly reached him.

Looking up, he smiled at her she as she entered the room, bearing a tray laden with mouth-watering dishes.

"Christine," he said triumphantly. "Your likeness will soon be hanging in the most prestigious gallery in all of France!"

She smiled sweetly at his exuberant new mood. "That sounds just wonderful, my love. But first, here is your breakfast!"

He put the drawing down, and gave her his most tender, loving look. "You must sit for me again just as soon as we have finished these bountiful delights!"

"Gladly, Erik!" She set the tray down, going over to his side. Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a big peck on the cheek. "You are so full of surprises, dearest angel! I shall truly enjoy being married to you!"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Ah, my faithful readers, surely you did not expect this! Raoul is still around! Blast that boy! Well, I had to change this chapter as well, since it no longer followed logically from the events in the previous chapter. The original Chapter 11 _will_ return, but further on in the narrative. This means that our favorite couple will definitely consummate their passion! Stick around, folks!**

**Chapter 11: The Aristocrat's Proposition**

Marguerite was polishing the silverware again, even though she had been explicitely instructed not to do so by Madame Blanche herself. The young girl knew that she was needed elsewhere in the kitchen, but the thought of being once again drenched in sweat as she toiled above a steaming pot of Guillaume's choice beef _bourguigonne _was so intolerable to her that she would do almost anything else...Of course, she thought to herself, she would be most interested in airing out the chamber at the top of the stairs, on the third floor. Its occupants were most peculiar. More peculiar still was the fact that the Vicomte himself came by every single week, to inquire as to the health of the very strange gentleman who had been wounded by robbers on the road. She became lost in her thoughts, remembering her recent, distinctly unpleasant encounter...

Marguerite had seen the young aristocrat once, as she peeked out from one of the windows of the inn's spacious dining room. She had gasped when she saw him, and was instantly smitten. If the stories she had been able to gather were true, this incredibly handsome man was courting the young woman who was presently attending the wounded gentleman. Antoinette, the chamber maid for the upper stories, had also whispered the most unbelievable piece of news into Marguerite's astonished ears: the young woman in question had spurned the Vicomte!

"You cannot be telling me the truth!" Marguerite, totally shocked, had her hands at her temples.

"I swear to you on my mother's grave that it's true, Margot!" Antoinette much preferred this name for the young scullery maid, and Marguerite had long ago tired of correcting her. They had nevertheless become fast friends.

"But...but...is she blind, or mad? How could she reject such a man?" She rolled her eyes dramatically, lifting her head to gaze upward as she clasped her hands together. Antoinette giggled, amused as well as pleased that her piece of news had had its desired effect on her friend.

"My dear, any of us would be more than glad to make a man like that happy! Mon Dieu!" She grinned wickedly as she turned to go up the stairs, straining under the weight of the basket she carried, which was full of clean, neatly-folded pillowcases and sheets. Marguerite remembered staring after her, mouth opened in disbelief, as Antoinette continued up the stairs. "Are you completely sure about her rejection?" she called up to her.

Antoinette turned as she reached the second-floor landing, and, groaning, set the heavy basket down. Then she leaned over the railing, and loudly whispered down, "Are you not aware that my gossip-gathering skills are the very best in this sleepy little town? Do you not remember who it was that first discovered the reason the baker's wife suddenly decided to learn how to fish? And now here we are, three years later...she has caught quite a batch for herself, hasn't she?" She giggled again, holding her hand over her mouth.

Marguerite grinned up at her friend. "Yes, she had twins right off, didn't she? It must have happened on one of those occasions he came in from one of his fishing trips!"

Antoinette leaned perilously further, holding on to the railing, and smiled knowingly. "My dear little Margot...I have it on the best authority that she is now expecting their third!"

Marguerite let out a yelp of laughter, while Antoinette abruptly pulled herself back up and, reaching down, hurriedly picked up the basket of laundry. Someone was walking down the passageway toward her. The scullery maid understood at once that someone was approaching, and now became quite busy polishing the balustrade, while the steps above came closer. She heard Antoinette mumble a reply to a male voice above, a voice which now stirred her own heart into a furious pounding. It was the scandalously handsome Vicomte...She could now hear his steps upon the stairs! Oh, if only she could run! It would, however, look rather strange to him if she were to do such a thing, so she sternly restrained herself. As he came closer, she bent even more to her self-assigned task, pretending to be totally absorbed in it. All too soon, she heard his pleasantly masculine voice at her side.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he said.

She looked up sharply, wondering if he could hear the loud beating of her heart. She was met by his amused, deeply green eyes, and blushed, in spite of herself, looking away hastily.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," she responded, then quickly lowered her head again, as she leaned down to polish a section that already gleamed from her obsessive stroking. Unbelievably, she heard his low chuckle above her, as he again spoke.

"You are indeed a most excellent polisher, Mademoiselle!"

"Merci, Monsieur," she mumbled, without looking up. He chuckled more loudly, and stepped off the stairs. She did not hear him walk away, however. She wished he would go away. He could easily read her, and knew he had made quite an impression on her. What could he possibly want with her, unless it might be a simple roll in the hay? She was but a simple scullery maid. At last, she straightened, and met those impossibly green eyes. She was aghast at the realization that her cheeks were burning.

"Tell me, Mademoiselle," he began, while she, finding it quite difficult to meet his eyes, kept looking away from him, "have you seen the young lady who is attending the gentleman in the second suite on the third floor?"

A sudden anger, inexplicably mixed with relief, abruptly overtook her. So he was still interested in the woman who had rejected him! He was all kinds of a fool! She sighed, softly, as she looked away from him once more. Yes, he was a fool -- a fool for love...She understood. She herself had been such a fool, once.

Now she looked at him, making eye contact. "No, Monsieur, I have not," she replied, surprising herself by her calmness.

"She has not left the room this day?" he persisted.

"Well, I suppose she must have gone down to the kitchen to get some food for him. She will not allow any of the maids to enter his bedroom. She always takes the tray from them at the door."

"I see..." he answered. "And have you been one of those maids?"

"Yes, of course, Monsieur, from time to time," she answered, truthfully.

He appeared to mull this over, then spoke again. "Have you...been able to notice...ahem...whether there have been any amorous attentions between them?"

She blushed furiously now. "Why, Monsieur! I am not in the habit of intruding on the privacy of the inn's guests! Besides, I would instantly be dismissed, sir!" Her shock at having heard such a question from him must have shown plainly on her face, for he smiled reassuringly at her.

"Mademoiselle, I did not mean to imply any indiscretion on your part. It is just that...well, the staff at a hotel or inn usually...notices...many things, do they not?" He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed now. After a brief pause, he went on. "I was just wondering whether you had happened to...notice anything, perhaps?" He smiled, rather uncertainly.

She roundly shook her head. "No, Monsieur, I have noticed nothing. I was not aware that there was any...interest of that sort between them. I had just...assumed that they were...relatives, perhaps..."

He smiled again, that beautiful smile she wished were for her alone...

"Well, then, Mademoiselle," he replied, smoothly, dipping a hand into one of his pockets, "I would be...most appreciative if you were to pass on to me any information that you were able to gather..." So saying, he pulled out a forty-franc note.

Eyes wide in dismay, she gasped. "Why, Monsieur! No! I would never accept any money, not from you, not from anyone, for spying on a guest!"

Gathering her skirts about her, she fled, leaving him with his angry disappointment, mixed with a grudging admiration for her adherence to her principles.

Well, he thought, determinedly, surely he would be able to find at least _one _servant at this inn who would be willing to accept his bribe! He must know exactly what was taking place between Christine and that confounded monster! That was but the first step in his plan to get her away from him. Surely she would come to her senses once she was not in his presence! It was clear that the fiend had her under a diabolical spell...so it was the scion of the House of Chagny who would ensure this spell was broken! He gritted his teeth at the thought that Erik might have already forced himself upon her innocent person, while he, Raoul, stood idly by, unable to protect her. He mentally brushed aside that little speech she had given him, when he had gone up to the suite to inquire as to Erik's welfare. It meant nothing -- nothing at all. It was simply another one of that damnable monster's ploys. He was a very skillful manipulator, and Christine did not have the strongest of wills. Yes, he would definitely tear her away from that murderer. He simply had to plan everything very, very carefully...


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Well, here is a hint of things to come! All is not well in the lives of our dearly beloved couple...not at all. An ancient evil is reaching out its long arm to destroy their happiness...**

**Chapter 12: An Encroaching Shadow **

A swift breeze blew off the ocean, chilling the night air. The rays of the full moon glinted off the gently rolling waves that lapped up to the shore, erasing the footprints of the lone couple that walked close to the water's edge. The man wore a heavy black cloak, which he had partially thrown over the shoulders of the woman who accompanied him, effectively shielding her slight figure. They walked with their arms around each other, she leaning her head on his broad shoulder. They paused once, there by the gently lapping water, and he looked up at the moon, while she snuggled closer into him. His white mask, which covered half his face, caught the moonlight as he turned his head out to the sea, deeply breathing in the briny air. They stood thus for a few moments, and then the man looked down at her. He kissed the top of her head, then removed his cloak, and wrapped her firmly in it.

She lifted her head up to receive his kiss upon her lips. There by the seashore, with the round-faced moon as backdrop, their lips met, and their bodies embraced, forming one silhouette. Words, passionately whispered, were taken up by the breeze, and tossed around on their way to the portals of heaven. Her voice suddenly rose and fell in song, as gently as the waves that almost touched their feet, while his wove around it, steady in timbre, forming the perfect counterpoint to hers. The peaceful night witnessed their impromptu duet, their sweet ardor.

Not far from them, standing on a sand dune, a solitary figure contemplated the scene. The man was dressed completely in black. He wore no cloak, however, despite the coolness of the night breeze. A sweeping black fedora covered half his sharply chiseled features, which sported a thin mustache and goatee. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the embracing couple, making no move to go down to them. A sudden gust whipped at his clothes, but apparently did not bother him in the slightest. His fedora remained undisturbed on his head.

Having stood motionless for many long minutes, he now put a hand in one of his pockets, and brought forth a pipe, which he calmly lit, shielding the small flame of his match from the wind. Puffing on the pipe, he continued to stare out at the lovers for a few more moments. Then, just as calmly as he had walked up to the dune, he walked away from it, disappearing quite suddenly into the night.

Erik lifted his head, regretfully wrenching his lips from Christine's. He looked back toward the inn, which was somewhat hidden by a stand of trees, several yards away from the water. Something had inexplicably tugged at him, but even his keen senses could not detect what it might have been. The moon clearly illuminated the night, but he could see nothing. Yet, he had felt...something. He had felt a rather disturbing, nagging inner tug. It had been an unpleasant feeling, and he could now also feel a cold clamminess closing over his heart. He shuddered, involuntarily.

"What is it, Erik?" Christine had been puzzled when he had abruptly broken their kiss, to look back toward the inn. "Have we been followed by someone? You are not ill, are you?"

"No, I am not ill, my love," he answered gravely, "and yes, I do believe we have been followed. I cannot, however, discern why or who it might be." He suddenly shivered, violently, and she grasped him more tightly.

"Why are you shivering like this? Here, let me return your cloak." She attempted to remove the heavy garment from her shoulders.

"No, Christine," he whispered; too urgently, it seemed to her. "I have no need of the cloak." His eyes roved over the landscape behind them, but his abnormally sharp night vision could detect nothing. Then he sighed, and looked down at her again.

"Whoever it was, he is gone now."

"He? How could you possibly know whether it was a man or a woman?"

He sighed. "I cannot be entirely certain that it was a male. Yet, somehow I feel that it was. No woman would dare venture out here unacccompanied, even in this seemingly harmless little town."

"Erik, you are truly concerned about this! Why would anyone follow us? Surely no one here knows who you are!" She snuggled even closer to him, feeling a frisson of fear travel down her spine.

"Well, my dear, that remains to be seen. I am uneasy about this."

She gasped, as a thought occurred to her. "Do you think it could have been...Raoul?"

Grimly, Erik shook his head. "I would not have felt what I did, had it been that blasted boy! Still, you may be right. Perhaps he is still lurking about...but if so, I have not sensed his presence."

Her mouth opened slightly in alarm. "What...did you feel, Erik?"

He turned his face from her, looking anxiously about once more. "It felt...as if someone were calling...out to me...no, it was as if I were being _summoned_...it was...a dreadful, evil...thing..."

Looking down at her again, he softly caressed her cheek, smiling reassuringly into her worried eyes. Perhaps his fears were totally groundless, and he did not wish to spoil her happiness.

"Come, we must return, my sweet. Do not let it trouble you further. I have been looking over my shoulder an entire lifetime. I would not be surprised to discover that there was a price on my head...I have always been the hunted, mocked, spawn of hell, have I not?" In spite of his best intentions, the memories, which he thought would surely be buried by now, rose like silent specters before him, beating mercilessly agaisnt his heart.

She laid her hand on his arm, looking up at his face, which now bore a haunted look. His mind had drifted away, far away from her...

"Erik," she whispered, soothingly. "Do you recall how you used to speak with me through the mirror?"

His head came down. His eyes, shining with love, looked adoringly into hers.

"My love...how can I ever forget? How I longed to reveal myself to you! Ah, but I was so afraid to do so! I knew not how you would react to seeing...this monstrosity...before your eyes...but the longing, the longing...I yearned to hold you in my arms, pressing my lips upon yours..."

She smiled her sweetest, most loving smile. "Pray tell, are you not able to do so freely now, sir?"

He smiled as well, and pulled her into his embrace. "You are the lifeblood of my heart, Christine...You are the compass of my soul...Ah, my love, say that you will never, never, leave me, for if you do, I shall surely perish!"

She squeezed him with all her strength. "Never, my love," she whispered, fiercely. "Your soul is the twin to my own!"

Her fervently spoken words rose on the wind, echoing strangely. They were immediately followed by a flurry of whispered curses that also floated away on the wind...Christine tightened her hold even more upon Erik, as her heart drummed madly. He, too, appeared a bit shaken, although he attempted to hide it from her.

"Erik..." Her voice was trembling, and he held her closely to him, shielding her with his body, as he again looked all around them. No one was to be seen. Just then, a most unusually strong gust of wind swept into them, nearly knocking them to the sand, while a cloud unexpectedly blanketed the moon, plunging the lovers into sudden darkness.

"Erik!" She was truly frightened now.

He attempted to calm her fears by teasing her. "Why, where is that valiant, most formidable woman who brandished a pistol at a highway robber not two fortnights ago? I would be hard pressed to recognize her now, would I not?"

She laughed briefly, but he noticed the fear in that laughter. "You would, indeed, my dear sir!"

"Come, then, my frightened little mouse! Let us scurry back to the shelter of our little mouse hole!" Without further ado, he scooped her up in his arms, while she squealed, in a mixture of surprised delight, as well as concern for his right arm.

"Erik, you devil! You are not to exert yourself in this way as yet! Did the doctor not warn you...?"

"Ah, my dear, sweet morsel of heaven! You concern yourself unduly! Am I still not the dauntless, indomitable Phantom of the Opera? Who dares to oppose my will, except it be...with sweet, passionate caresses?"

He bore her, laughing, up the beach, over the sand dunes, and back to the inn through the stand of trees. She laughed breathlessly along with him, and they both momentarily forgot their misgivings as they lost themselves in each other's presence...

As they passed through the trees, their leaves rustled menacingly, whispering words of unspeakable evil...still they continued on their way, heedless, laughing heartily at one point, when Erik nearly dropped her. The menacing words died away, and a shadow of impenetrable darkness slunk away, out of the densely packed group of trees.

At that precise moment, Marguerite, the young scullery maid, was walking around the inn's garden, wondering why she was unable to sleep, as she usually did so quite soundly. She would later recall that it was at the stroke of midnight when she felt an ominous chill in the breeze, and an unexplainable sense of terrible dread came over her. Glancing up at the moon, she was struck with fear as a shadow crossed over it, a shadow that was definitely not a passing cloud...Trembling, she swiftly turned around, and ran into into the inn, locking the door that led to the garden securely behind her.

She ran down the passageway, through the large, gloomily silent kitchen, and found the stairs leading up to the servants' quarters, on the second floor, at the back of the building. She ran all the way up the stairs to her room, and burst into it, slamming the door shut behind her. She locked it as well, and leaned agaisnt it, panting, for a full ten minutes. She fumbled around for a match, on a small table next to the door. When she found one, she lit one of the gas jets, which was just above the table. Then she moved away from the door, and walked into her simple, bare room.

By this surprisingly strong light, she was able to find her way to her small bed. Opening the night table drawer, she withdrew a box of matches, and lit the candle that she always kept on top of the table. Next she brought out her rosary, the only one she had, given to her by her own mother, the night she had left this world forever.

Kneeling by the bed, she crossed herself, and fervently began to pray. As she mouthed the well-known words, she began to calm down, and felt her fear recede. A warm, comfortable peace began to enfold her in its heavenly arms. Soon, her head began to droop over her hands. She put the rosary on the table top, next to the candle, and crawled into bed, pulling the warm blankets over herself. Although she had no fire in the grate, and the window was partially open, she felt quite warm and content. She descended easily into sleep.

Outside her window, the brooding shadow had cleared, leaving no trace, and the moon tranquilly rode the swift currents of the night wind. Peace reigned once more over the picturesque stillness of the small town.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: They have finally become one...This chapter contains part of my original Chapter 10, although I have revised it somewhat, making it much more tender...sigh...I hope you all enjoy the changes! **

**Chapter 13: The Bud Blooms At Last...**

As they approached the inn, Erik began to tire. He stopped a few paces from the building, and gingerly set her down, wincing slightly from the pain in his arm. It would soon disappear, he knew, so he was not overly concerned. His considerable strength was returning, more and more each day.

Christine looked worriedly up at him. "Are you all right, Erik?" she asked, her brow creasing into a worried frown.

He sighed, stretching out his affected arm, flexing the muscle experimentally. Pleased that it was returning to normal, he faced her with a smile.

"Better and better, my sweet."

Joining hands, they walked over to a side entrance to the inn, for which they had been given a key.

The silence of the night is only such to unaccustomed ears, Erik mused. He could hear all the little nocturnal stirrings around them. For him, the night was full of music. He stopped to listen briefly before crossing the threshold to enter the building. Christine tugged on his sleeve with nervous apprehension. For her, the night held mostly a hidden menace, which she could only tolerate if accompanied by Erik. This particular night had been even more ominous, a fact which she found very unsettling...

Turning, Erik followed her inside, producing a candle from one of his pockets, along with a small box of matches and a candle holder. Placing the one into the other, he lit the match. The candle at once flamed into life. Their faces glowed in its fluttering light.

"It is almost as if we were once again inside the Opera House..." she whispered.

"Darkness. My protection and my friend...Ah, but then I met you, you who are light and joy in the bright sunshine...and you have turned to the darkness, to be my companion in it..." His eyes were clouded by sadness as he spoke.

"Only the darkness that is the absence of light, my love," she replied, "I would never join you in the darkness of evil. That is something that you have left behind, I trust..."

"Ah, my love," he said, sighing, "I am not entirely sure of that...I need you by my side, to keep me always in the light of goodness."

She smiled up at him as they walked through the inn's immense vestibule. "Erik, it is only God who can keep you in that light.".

"But you, my beautiful love, are the keeper of it." His warm, loving gaze swept her features.

Having found the stairs, they began ascending, their arms around each other once more.

They unlocked the door of their suite, and entered. The moonlight outlined most of the furniture in pearly highlights, lending an eerie look to what would in the daytime look most ordinary and harmless.

"Well, my angel," she murmured against his neck as his arms came around her, "I must retire to my cot. I had it placed in the sitting room, as you are out of danger now. I am well within earshot, however, should you need anything."

"Christine..." his lips sought her own, and she turned her face up to his. He hastily took off his mask, throwing it across the room, and began covering her face with kisses. "Christine..." His sigh of passion fanned across her throat, making her skin tingle, as his mouth moved down her neck. His hands had begun to urgently knead her back, pulling her harder agaisnt him.

Christine felt her resolve beginning to melt, but she strove to control the trembling desire to give her body to him. She attempted to free herself from his intoxicating embrace.

"Erik...my love...I must go to my cot...please...let me go..."

"Ah..." His sigh was raw with passion, but he slowly released her. "Why have you felt it necessary to distance yourself from me?" he inquired, so sorrowfully that she instantly felt remorseful.

"Erik, you know very well why... I can hear you quite well from there. You can call out to me, and I will instantly awake...if you..."

His sigh was explosive as he looked at her, his golden eyes intently holding her gaze.

"My dear, you must know that you will eventually have to succumb to me...I know you would prefer to do so as my wife. But if it should happen without that ring on your finger, you must realize that you are mated to me, and nothing and no one can ultimately come between us..." His expression, in the dim light, was a combination of intense desire and tightly controlled anger.

As he said these words, he lifted one of her hands to his lips, and grazed her knuckles in the tenderest such kiss he had ever given her. She trembled with need. She yearned to have him possess her completely...Her heart was pounding furiously, and she knew it was due to a combination of fear and desire...

"Good night, Erik..." she whispered, lowering her eyes with the greatest effort. She started to pull away from him once again, but he reached out with one hand, from which he had swiftly pulled a black glove, and began to trail it along her jawline, sliding it down along her neck, tantalizingly grazing her decolletage. His eyes were golden orbs of fire. His breathing deepened, quickened, and her breasts rose and fell now, as she gazed upon him, totally mesmerized.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes came up to meet his. "Erik..."

He stirred slightly as his own eyes shifted down to her lush lips. His nostrils flared. She gasped slightly as the heat of his body assaulted her. He was a magnificent, dark stallion, courting his pure, white mare...

"My love..." he murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from her slightly parted lips.

She lowered her eyes, blushing, but they betrayed her, for they, too, gazed hypnotically upon his lips...She was suddenly unable to move away from him. Her breasts rose and fell with increasing intensity. She was a delicate moth, trembling in the fire of the flame that was slowly consuming her. His sensuous presence, when in such close proximity, rendered her totally mindless, and she instinctively strained for his touch. Closing her eyes, she sighed, a long, flowing sigh, as she swayed slightly, her body taking control, her senses drowning in the heat of his body...

He caught her in his arms as he exhaled forcefully, his desire perilously close to overpowering him. He held her closely. Taking one of her hands in his, he brought it up to his unmarred cheek. He felt her hand move under his, as she caressed his cheek with the lightest touch. He inhaled sharply, his nostrils distending with the force of his arousal. Then he took her lips, kissing her with totally unrestrained passion, as he pulled her hard agaisnt his body. His left hand moved down her skirts, attempting to pull them up so he could feel her leg underneath. He cursed softly at his inability to do so, for there were too many layers for him to move through.

She suddenly gave a little yelp, for she had felt the evidence of his arousal, even through all her skirts. "Erik!"

"Do not fear, my love," he said, hoarsely. "There is much for you to discover, but I shall be nothing if not gentle..." Grinning his wolf's grin, he brought his lips to her ear, and whispered, "I love you and want to be one with you, Christine...Will you let me, my sweet love?"

Her eyes filled with tears as she took his face with both hands, then pressed a soft kiss upon his lips. He sighed as well, once more trailing his mouth down her neck. This time he did not stop at the edge of her bodice, but delved into it with his tongue. She whimpered softly as he did so. He then put one of his hands where his mouth had been, sliding it inside the bodice to cup one of her breasts. He lightly flicked the nipple, which instantly hardened.

"Erik!" She gasped, throwing her head back as a spasm of pure pleasure swept through her body.

"Christine..." His hot breath was on the edge of her bodice, and she felt little tremors of desire course through her.

She felt his hands at the back of her dress, fumbling with the buttons, as he continued to kiss the edge of her bodice, then trail his mouth up her neck again, sliding his tongue over her ear lobe. She could only sigh and hold on to him, allowing him free access to her creamy skin. He had unbuttoned her dress halfway down, when his husky voice caressed her ear.

"You must turn around, my sweet angel...I must finish with the rest of the buttons..."

She dreamily did as he requested, her will now entirely given into his keeping. He lifted her hair out of the way, and continued unbuttoning the dress. He pressed kisses upon her uncovered neck. His hands alternately unbuttoned, then caressed her back through her thin chemise, as if he were a sculptor molding his creation. His mouth reverently followed his hands.

"Oh...Erik!" Her breathing again caught in her throat, and she leaned her head back into him blissfully. She had no mind at the moment, but only volcanic feelings that swept through her, unhindered by the constraints of reason.

He began to pull her dress down, revealing her corset. He finished pulling the garment down, letting it fall softly at her feet. Then he began to work on the lacings of the corset, all the while crooning to her, adoring her with his hands, as her scantily-clad body was slowly revealed to him. When at last he had managed to unlace the corset, he removed it with great satisfaction.

"My love..." His voice was sheer torture to her pleasantly inflamed senses. He began at once to draw her skirts down about her.

She was now clad only in her chemise, drawers, and stockings, which were held up by garters. She inhaled sharply as she felt him pulling her chemise down as well...and gave another little yelp when she realized her breasts were now bare. Her hands instinctively came up to cover them.

"Ah, no, my sweet..." he murmured, gently removing her hands. "Do not cover up these treasures..."

With a sigh of blissful pleasure, he put his hands over her breasts, and began caressing them slowly, deliberately, while his mouth covered her back with kisses. Christine felt little explosions of raw desire in her groin, which his hands now began to skim, as he sought to lower her drawers as well. One of his hands delved beneath, fondling her intimately, and she groaned, as her hips involuntarily arched back into his body...

Erik, his breathing now ragged, could stand no more. He pulled the drawers all the way down, and slid her garters off. Turning her around, he brought her hard against his body. He was beyond himself. He had to have her, very, very soon...

Christine felt her now naked body being crushed against his, her hips locked with his. They kissed with heedless abandon, fiercely attempting to possess each other. Her hands began to move to the buttons of his shirt. He groaned deep in his throat, then suddenly whispered huskily in her ear, as his tongue licked her ear lobe, "Are you feeling desperate yourself, my sweet, hmmmm?"

Gasping, she smiled, as she lifted his shirt out of his trousers. He abruptly stilled her hands, smiling wickedly at her. Without warning, he picked her up in his arms, relishing the wide-eyed wonder in her eyes as she gazed at him with such trusting love. Walking over to the bed, he carefully placed her on it. The moonlight danced over her nude body, arousing him even further. Not taking his eyes from hers, he swiftly began to unbutton his white shirt. She watched him langurously, her eyes remaining on his. He threw the shirt off, and then quickly shed his trousers, revealing his underpants, which he swiftly removed as well. His grin was deliciously masculine, as was his body, she mused, glancing down at his...

"How very becomingly you blush, my sweet little diva..." He was immensely delighted with her seductive innocence. Leaning over her, he placed a tender kiss upon her lips, then slowly brought his naked body on top of hers. Their eyes were now inches apart.

Christine felt deliciously decadent...She had never borne the weight of a man's body on hers, and was entirely, sweetly, aroused. She embraced him with fierce tenderness, her eyes filling with tears. He, looking down at her, smiled.

"My sweet, beautiful, wonderful Christine," he whispered, as he caressed her face and hair with trembling hands. He could hardly believe that she was finally in his arms, like this...

They resumed their kissing, which again turned hotly intense.

When he felt she was ready, he briefly broke their kiss. Framing her face with his hands, he gave her a sweet, light kiss, and spoke against her lips, "My love, this will hurt a bit. It is so the first time for women, as I have read. I am sorry. I promise it will only be this one time."

Christine gazed up at him, suddenly uncertain. She could not turn back now, she realized, in spite of her fear...she wanted him too much.

"I trust you, Erik," she whispered, her eyes glistening.

Erik smiled over her lips, and kissed her once more, very tenderly. Then, bringing himself to her womanly entrance, he began to penetrate her gently, gradually...

She whimpered, while he did his best to soothe her, assuring her of his love, and apologizing profusely for having to hurt her.

She was unable to reach the pinnacle of passion the very first time. Once the pain subsided, he loved her with gentle restraint, joining fully with her, as he thrust into her slowly, again and again, while she held on to him as tightly as she could, overwhelmed by his great love for her.

His pleasure peaked in great waves, so strong that he was stunned. Never had he imagined that he would feel such a thing...Panting, he rode them out, rocking against her, his hips thrusting slowly, as his mouth feasted hungrily on her breasts. She arched against him, moaning. He cried out as the pleasure took possession of him, as he felt his love for this woman exploding outward, filling her with his seed. He could feel her body gently rocking upward, into him, as her arms abruptly tightened upon his back.

He stilled, resting his sweat-beaded forehead on hers, which was also moist. His breathing was coming in great gusts upon her face, and she was again reminded of the image of a stallion. He opened his eyes directly into hers. Smiling lazily, he pressed a light kiss upon her lips. She smiled as well, a bit shyly, for she was no longer an innocent maiden. Her eyes closed as a wave of embarrassment claimed her.

"Are you regretting this, my sweet?" he inquired, ever so softly.

"No, Erik," she replied, just as softly.

"And yet," he prompted, as he caressed her hair.

She bit her lip, her eyes darting to the side. "And yet, I am feeling..." She sighed, and a tear slid out of the corner of one eye.

"Yes?" His tongue licked at the tear, then his lips kissed her eyelids.

"I am...now a fallen woman, I suppose..."

He turned to lie on his back, saying nothing, as guilt suddenly assailed him. Christine snuggled closer into him, hooking one of her legs over his own, as he lovingly enclosed her in his arms, brushing a wet tendril of hair from her cheek. Her head was on his chest, making his heart swell with masculine pride. _His_ woman. _His._ _Forever_...His desperate quest to win her love was over. She could not belong to anyone else now...

"Do you think that I will reject you, now that we have made love?" His breath slightly stirred her curly locks.

"I would die if you were to do such a thing, Erik!" Her voice was full of pain.

He tightened his grasp on her. "So would I, my love...but you need not fear that I would. You are my very life, Christine..."

She moved her head up, and looked into his eyes. She could read the truth of his words in them.

He sighed. "I am sorry you did not attain your peak, my love," he now said, regret in his voice. "I did not want to hurt you..."

She smiled sweetly. "Oh, Erik, I know that. You have been the gentlest, most considerate of lovers. I am sure I will truly enjoy the next time..."

"Insatiable vixen!" he teased, as his mouth swept down upon her own. They held each other tightly as they kissed, sealing their union.

She broke their kiss, giggling. "Ah, but Monsieur...I must have that ring upon my finger before you can have me again!"

He began to chuckle softly as he looked at her beloved face in the moonlight. Tracing a finger from her eyebrows, down her nose, to that perfect mouth he so loved to kiss, he murmured lovingly, "And I shall proudly put that ring on your sweet little finger, Mademoiselle Daae..." Here he took her left hand, and kissed each of her fingers in turn.

"But..." As he paused, her eyebrows went up. Then his wolfish grin returned. "I would hope that you would not deprive me of the pleasure of making love to you until that moment arrives. That would be most cruel of you. Do you not think so, Mademoiselle?" He now began to kiss the palm of her left hand, slowly, then her wrist, and was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath.

"Ah, Erik...I must be able to resist you until then, my love...But you make it so difficult for me to do so...I love you..." Her breath came forth slowly, sensuously.

"And I love you, Christine." He gazed at her with utmost seriousness now. "I have never wanted anything more than to become your husband, for all time..."

With a little cry of delight, she leaned forward, possessing his mouth with all the love she felt for him. He joyously returned her kiss. They embraced each other as if they were soon to be parted.

He, too, wished to prolong their closeness, as he held her reverently. They could feel each other's heartbeats as they lay thus together. She could feel the instrument of his desire, still nestled between her legs...She blushed again. She was irrevocably his now, and the knowledge gave her a sense of completion. If she was not his wife officially, she was so in the most basic, ancient of ways...

Before long, they had drifted off into a contented, deep sleep, as the moon's rays slanted across their bed...


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: This chapter was my previous Chapter 11. The lovemaking scene, originally in Chapter 10, is now in Chapter 13, although revised for more tenderness! **

**For some obscure reason, the reviews for Chapters 10, 11, and 12 were not removed when I deleted those chapters, replacing them with new ones. So if you have noticed in passing that the reviews for these chapters don't seem to match, it's because they don't, unless someone happened to review on 1/15, which is when I put in the new chapters. I fail to understand why such a thing would happen, but there it is...**

**I owe a debt to Susan Kay, for the genesis of this chapter. If you are familiar with her novel, Phantom, you will understand at once. To those of you who are not, I will briefly explain. **

**In a passage towards the end of the novel, Erik decides to throw in his lot with the devil himself, as he feels that God has abandoned him. He sees "a thousand little devils lighting black candles along the path which leads toward the edge" (Kay). Then he describes how these devils strip him of all emotion, leaving pure evil instead. **

**I did not copy any of Kay's material, as any of you can verify by looking up the passage I am referring to -- on page 410 of the newly re-published edition. What I did do is to use this passage as a springboard to imagine what the possible consequences of this decision of Erik's might have been, especially if he and Christine were to engage in intercourse. This is, after all, a story with supernatural elements in it. It would therefore not be implausible to assume that, in the very act of lovemaking, our two lovers became bonded through a "soul tie". A woman, especially, always bonds emotionally with a man she has made love with. There is a spiritual bond, as well. I simply took it one step further...Hope this clears up any confusion that might have arisen for any of you readers! **

**Chapter 14: And There Will Be Hell To Pay...**

Christine shifted uneasily in her sleep, and her hand involuntarily moved higher onto Erik's chest. She did not awaken, however, although she had begun to cry...

_She could not see anything before her, yet she felt an urgent need to continue walking, going nowhere, it seemed to her. She knew not the reason for this pressing urgency, as well as the growing fear that sat upon her shoulders like monstrous, dark wings, sorrowfully weighing her down instead of allowing her to fly away from whatever it was she had to get away from. She had tried to run, but, of course, the wings hampered her movements. She kept looking around uneasily, but there was nothing around, in front of, or behind her, nothing but a sickening dead black void. She did not even know what type of ground she trod. Her name...what was her name? As if in answer, a word came to her...was it her name? Remembrance...how curious...She had to accept that this might be her name, as there was no other that she could bring to mind...Remembrance...Her whole being was caught up in this word..._

_The air she breathed was thick, stifling. She was unable to discern any sort of airflow in the area. Indeed, she was not even able to ascertain whether she was indoors, or whether she walked out in the wild, although the surface her bare feet walked upon seemed to be smooth and cool. Perhaps, she mused, she was walking on a tiled floor. Then, perhaps, it was merely well-packed earth. Oh. What had she been thinking about? Remembrance...yes, that was her name..._

_Something slapped wetly against her, and she cried out in fear. Instinctively, she crouched into a fetal position, as if she were trying to somehow make herself invisible. Ludicrous, considering the fact that her gloomy surroundings already rendered her invisible...Again she felt something slap agaisnt her, and again that strange wetness. She felt a trail of sticky, thick liquid coursing down her arm. Awareness sharpened, she instantly realized what it was -- blood. Then she began to scream, although no sound came forth from her mouth. Undeterred, she continued to scream and scream, while the smothering darkness swallowed the sound..._

_The cloak-enshrouded man darted about, searching for her as his blood pumped fearfully through veins distended by unnaturally keen senses. He had to find her, pull her from that stifling darkness. She must not be swallowed up in it. No, the darkness must not touch her, must not corrupt her innocent soul. He began to curse himself most soundly, and was appalled to hear a callous, evil cackle in the near distance, mocking his words with horrifying disdain. His heart skipped a beat, and he knew sudden fear. He, who was so intimately acquainted with darkness, was now touched by fear! _

_"Yesssssss...Feed me, feed me with your fear...Yesssssssss!" His hair suddenly stood on end, and a shiver ran up his spine. He realized, then, that one of the Master's minions must have immediately registered the fact that he and his little ingenue had consorted carnally...Fool! He was the greatest fool! How could he have been deluded into believing that his darkness would never taint her purity, her goodness? He had truly corrupted her, sullied her innocent life! Now the Master would claim her as well! She would now serve Him...Rage rose in him. He was truly powerless! He could not protect her..._

_"As if you actually thought that you ever could..." The voice hissed all around him now, and he stopped what he now realized, too late, was simply endless, circular pacing, going nowhere...Terror struck at his heart, but he fought mightily to fend it off._

_"Fool!" The voice thundered, echoes ricocheting all around him. He could not tell whether they were bouncing off enclosing walls. The darkness was simply too dense. "No one who belongs to Me can ever hope to escape my clutches in the end! I always claim my own!" Insane laughter followed, and he felt an overpowering, equally insane desire to mimic it. With a supreme effort, he was able to suppress it, but it cost him heavily. He sank to the ground wearily, trembling, his brow wet with perspiration._

_"You are Mine!" The voice boomed again, louder this time, and he felt, all around him, the abrupt flapping of leathern wings. He ducked as the sound swooped down upon him. "And now, my dear fool, so is she!" The laughter started up again, louder and louder, all around him, and he could only cower in fear, effectively paralyzed. For how could he ever hope to stand up to...Him?_

_He could not give up, give in to Him...He had to find her, somehow free her from this horrible darkness..._

_"Christine!" His voice still had some power, after all. "Christine!" He was answered by stony silence, at first. Then, his incredibly sensitive ears picked up the very faint sound of her voice: "Erik!"_

_The darkness immediately bore down upon him, oppressing him with its inexorable weight. His forehead was now pressed down to the ground, his teeth began to chatter, and he squeezed his eyes shut. No...He must not take his Christine..._

_"Take me instead!" He pleaded with the uncaring darkness. "Take me! She is innocent of any wrongdoing! I will offer myself in her stead! Take me, take me!"_

_Mocking laughter answered him; then, the voice hissed, close by his elbow, "I have already taken you, my dear Phantom...You are, and will always be, Mine...But now you have brought me a rare gift indeed... a very tasty, tempting morsel that I may enjoy at leisure! Ah, you have done exceedingly well by your Master..." A roar, louder than the loudest roar a living lion would ever be capable of producing, assaulted his senses, and he had to cover his ears._

_"Despair...Loneliness...Fear...Selfishness...Revenge...Those are our names, Brother Phantom...You are one of us, now and forever..."_

_"No! No! No!" He screamed, over and over. "I am not one of you! No!" He sank all the way to the ground, sobbing in deepest despair, while further mocking echoes arose: "This is your hell..."_

_She awoke with a start, to the same impenetrable darkness, all around her. The word came back to haunt her with its inane repetitiveness: remembrance. Now she heard her name in her mind. Christine. Yes, that was her name..._

_A long-ago plea directed toward the divine now floated into her awareness, and she clung to it, refusing to let it go: "Help me, oh Lord..." Over and over she whispered it, even as the black void threatened to snuff her out..._

_A sweet, melodic whisper miraculously made its way to her: "Christine..." It was his voice. It was the man who had somehow stolen her soul. She shook her head at herself. Not stolen. No. She had freely given it to him. It was he, Erik, calling out to her, in the middle of this dark desolation..._

_"No..." the voice murmured, soothing her with its peace-inducing timbre, "this is not Erik, little diva..."_

_She opened her eyes, mystified, wondering, and beheld...nothing, at first. Then, a luminous point, brilliantly white, appeared, hanging in midair before her, illuminating her rapt face. It began to grow, and somehow, incredibly, appeared to pull atoms from the fetid air around it, turning them into more luminous points that joined it. This process continued, until the luminous points started to coalesce and take on solidity, to finally become...the figure of a man, a man most fair to look upon, who radiated pure, brilliant white light, yet did not sear her pupils as she gaped at him in awe._

_"Christine..." The incredibly beautiful voice called to her with a calmness that was not of Earth. "Fear not, for I am with you..." _

_He was clothed in something, but she could not discern what it was. Perhaps it was some sort of flowing robe. There was no telling where his figure began, and the darkness ended._

_"Who...are you?" She mumbled, her voice barely audible._

_He smiled down at her, a comforting, warm smile. "I am one of those Beings of Light whom you and your brethren know as Angels. I am called by a name unpronounceable by human tongues, but you may address me as Melethiel. I have come that you may be free, so that he whom you love may at last be free as well."_

_"Free? What do you mean? Where are we?"_

_Instead of answering, he reached out to her, and grasped her hand. "Come. We must find him, and quickly, before he is completely swallowed up in his despair."_

_They somehow rose on a wafting current of cool air that swept up from nowhere, and drifted off into the heavy gloom_


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Yes, this was originally Chapter 12. Since I delayed the lovemaking scene for a later chapter, I had to shift everything else...Blame my muses...Christine wanted to remain coy and shy for a bit longer, but Erik was furious at the delay, so he pushed me to put in their lovemaking several chapters early! **

**Chapter 15: The Long Arm of Heaven**

_A swift wind abruptly whipped up around him, tearing at his cloak, which covered his still, cowed figure. He was utterly spent, utterly powerless. Gone was the almost arrogant assurance that had enabled him to rule the Opera House like a little dictator._

_He had once sought to intimidate her into submission, to make her love him. His beautiful Christine. He had been so very wrong...Now he had sunk to this contemptible, timorous level...He had been used. The Master had promised much, but had not fulfilled his promises. Now the Master would use her, this hitherto pure, unsullied little flower, in the same way...She, too, would be the Master's puppet, to do His awful, evil bidding...And he, Erik, who should have been able to protect her, now needed protection himself. A great cry rose from his parched lips, a mixture of fear, sorrow, and despair...It was immediately swallowed up into the thick, impenetrable darkness...If he was indeed in hell, he wished to sink into pure oblivion, to lose awareness entirely..._

_"Ah, no, my boy...that will not do at all! You shall not grovel in abject despondency on the floor! I am still in need of your services! You have been her teacher in matters of singing, have you not? Now you shall tutor her in matters of greater interest to me...This you will do!"_

_Erik whimpered. He could not help but remember his mother as he heard the contempt that dripped from the terrible voice that surrounded him, a voice which he had once admired, and even sought to imitate...She, too, had been used, he now realized. She had been the Master's instrument in the formation of Erik's bitter, twisted genius. Ah, how he had hated her! He hated her still...He began to pound the ground in his customary fury, screaming out his hatred for her._

_"Yessssss...that is ever so much better..." the voice hissed, almost in his ear now. Erik's heart lurched. His skin began to crawl with terror, for unseen little hands were tugging at his clothes, and larger hands were at his shoulders, forcing him to stand...Where to flee? Yet flee he must! They...He...must not capture him...He rose quickly, throwing off the unwanted hands, and swept his arms out around him, attempting to strike out. Ah, if only he had his trusty Punjab lasso with him! Even if he did, however, it would not serve its purpose now, for he could not see his enemy. His abnormally keen eyesight was no help to him now. So he struck out, but met only empty air, while more cackles and hisses taunted him, out of nowhere._

_"You shall not have either one of us!" Anger would serve him, at least. Anger to mask his swollen terror. He would not go down without a fight. He whirled and whirled, to the right, to the left, always keeping his hands in motion, but found that he could not connect with anything that even resembled a body. The cackles and hisses went on, growing louder and louder, while he began to tire. At length, he had to bring his arms down, resting them on his knees as he bent over, gasping for air. At once, he felt hands around his throat, incredibly solid hands. They began to squeeze with supernatural strength. At the same time, other hands grasped his arms, pinning them to his back. An unseen leg kicked him hard behind the knees, bringing him to the floor. A deadeningly heavy weight fell on him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He struggled with all his strength, but the strength of those hands, as well as the weight, was greater. He felt his very life being squeezed out of him..._

_"Yessssss...my dear boy...I will now claim what is Mine. I have suffered you to exist for far too long, with your own free will and identity. You shall now render payment...I require the highest price: your soul..."_

_Erik felt his eyes bulge out as the hands continued to squeeze, ever more tightly. He knew he would soon lose consciousness, and thereafter, the specter of Death, already lying in wait, would claim his soul, to hand it over to the Master. In its place, something else would take possession of his body -- a loathsome, totally evil spirit, which would truly become a formidable new Phantom...a ruthless, merciless killing machine..._

_"Nooooooooo! Christine! My love..." His eyes closed in utter defeat, while gloating laughter deafened his remaining sense of hearing..._

Erik's body jerked spasmodically as he slept. He moaned, and his arms tightened around Christine's sleeping form. Beads of sweat stood on his brow.

_Gentle hands now closed around his neck, pulling away the ones which were draining the life from him. The deadly laughter hastily ceased, and a profound silence wrapped itself around him, enveloping him in warm peace. Behind his closed eyelids he could see light, growing in intensity. The heavy weight had been lifted from him, and he could feel a softly blowing breeze upon his brow. Then he heard her voice..._

_"Erik...my love, they are gone. You are quite safe now. Open your eyes, my angel."_

_He did so, very slowly, and very warily. With great delight, he beheld her beloved face, leaning over him. Her eyes, moist and full of love, gazed down upon him..._

_He was presently seized with an alarming suspicion that this might not be Christine at all, but a lying demon spirit that wished to deceive him. He pulled back from her, attempting to rise._

_"You are nothing but another evil liar!" he sputtered, pushing her away from him._

_"Erik! No! It is truly I, Christine!" She looked at him in the brilliant light, her alarmed expression startling him into brief doubt._

_"You may believe her, Erik." The voice was musical, intensely musical, with a low male timbre. Indeed, it was the most beautiful male voice Erik had ever heard. He stared at Christine quizzically, then craned his head to look up. He was astounded to see a man in what appeared to be a flowing, shining white robe, towering over him. _

_"Come." The dazzling white apparition again spoke. "There is no time to lose. You both have a brief reprieve. We must leave this terrible place at once, or they shall assert their territorial rights once more, with total impunity."_

_Erik stared at him in awe, then stiffly began to arise, aided by Christine, as well as the mysterious man whom he now knew to be an angel..._

An early evening breeze lovingly stirred the gossamer curtains of the bedroom window as Erik slowly opened his eyes. He felt bathed in a most delicious peace. He looked up, straight into her eyes, those eyes that could melt his very soul. One of her hands was caressing his brow, which was wet with some slight perspiration. Perhaps, however, it was really her tears that had moistened it, for it slowly became apparent to him that she had been crying. She was still completely nude, he noticed, as he felt his flesh beginning to stir, much to his dismay. He felt disoriented, and could say nothing for the moment. She, too, was silent. She now lay her head on his chest once more, as she had done when he had drifted off to sleep, cradling her in his arms. To his great consternation, she now began to weep again, softly, sobbing much as a child would. He felt a vise close around his heart. It was _he_ who was the cause of her weeping...He had enticed her, an innocent virgin, into his seductive embrace. It mattered not that he himself was a virgin. Due to his insatiable reading, as well as his very fertile imagination, he was quite knowledgeable about the ways of the flesh, even if he lacked the actual experience. She, however, had a totally pristine heart...

"Christine," he whispered gently, while his guilt hammered at his heart, "please do no cry so, my angel. I cannot bear to see you so distressed. My sweet, we shall marry at once, I promise you. I am getting stronger by the day..."

She said nothing for a moment, but her sobs began to lessen. "Erik..." Her voice faltered, but she went on. "Oh, Erik, my love, we are truly bonded. I am flesh of your flesh, spirit of your spirit...I am truly joined to you, and it is a terrible thing...Yet, my love for you remains...I cannot cease to love you...but I am afraid..."

He went very still, and his grip on her arms tightened. "You...had the same dream, then?"

She sighed, snuggling closer to him. "I saw an angel of light coming to me. I was engulfed by the most horrible darkness, but I prayed, and he appeared. He led me to you. Oh, Erik, it was so horrible...you were surrounded by demons, and they were holding you down...one of them was trying to...to...strangle you..." Here she burst into loud, wrenching sobs.

Erik tightened his arms around her, and began to rock her as he would a child. "Shhh, my love...I am here, with you. Nothing shall harm you..."

"I heard this voice, this incredibly evil voice...It said that...you...belonged...to him...Who was that? Was it...Him?" She gasped involuntarily.

Erik sighed. "Yes, Christine. It was He, the Evil One. The Master, as I have long called Him..."

She suddenly sat up. "You have called him by such a name? What does that mean? Have you...pledged yourself to him in some way? You are frightening me! Oh!"

She would have leaped from the bed then, but Erik took her by the arm, and gently restrained her. He could not bear the thought that she might be afraid of him.

"Christine, no! Do not fear me! I love you with all my heart! I could neve hurt you, nor allow any harm to touch you!"

"Yet it was I who saved you, with the help of the angel who saved me..." She said this with some wonder.

"Yes, my love," he answered, reaching up to caress her tresses. "It was your pure heart, untouched by any evil, that allowed you to be my rescuer." He smiled at her, and all his heart was in that smile.

She returned his smile, but a solitary tear stole down her cheek. "I should never have allowed myself to succumb to your seductive charms, Erik. I am now a fallen woman..."

"Christine, my love! You are absolutely nothing of the sort! You are the most beautiful, wonderful human being that I have ever known! You are nothing if not noble and pure!" He pulled her into his arms as he fervently spoke, crushing her against his chest, planting kisses all over her tear-stained features.

She sighed happily, returning his kisses with affectionate ones of her own. Her eyes took possession of his, totally entrancing him. "We must make our union holy before God, Erik," she whispered earnestly. "I cannot live comfortably with you otherwise."

"We will indeed, my sweet. I solemnly promise you."

She stirred lazily, stretching her arms above her head, and Erik felt that now-familiar jolt of desire at his groin. She looked down at him, having noticed that he was staring hungrily at her, and smiled very, very sweetly.

"Now, Monsieur Le Fantome, do you realize that we have slept away nearly the entire morning? Are you not hungry?"

"Oh, yes," he drawled, contemplating her movements, for she was covering herself with a sheet until she could put on her dress, which she now picked up from the floor. "I am in fact _quite_ hungry, my sweet little soprano...And why, pray tell, do you address me as 'Le Fantome'? I am no longer that personage, I assure you!"

She turned to him as she finished winding the sheet about her body. "Why, then, you must tell me your surname. I have never had the privilege of knowing it."

He sighed. He had forgotten this one unavoidable little fact about himself.

"That is because I have none, my love. I never knew my father's last name. My mother never revealed it to me."

She was mildly surprised, but only for a moment. Then a slow, teasing smile stole over her features. "Well, then, Monsieur, I trust you will have no objection to taking mine!"

He sat up straight in bed, indignantly puffing out his chest. "I shall do no such thing! Why, that is unheard of!"

"Then we must find a suitable one for you to assume, Monsieur..." she purred, sweetly.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Again I find myself indebted to Kay for inspiration. Her novel is truly a masterpiece, one not to be missed! She gives us an immensely compelling, deep understanding of Erik's soul, mind, and heart. **

**l have here alluded to Erik's birth, with the observation that his disfigurement was NOT caused by God, as he has always bitterly believed. **

**Once more, I am also referring briefly to the scene in Kay's novel in which Erik made his decision to follow and obey "The Master", although of course, he had already been walking close to "the edge" for a great part of his life. To some extent, he _is_ a madman. However, his unfortunate decision, although perhaps born of madness, created a bondage that is not easily broken... **

**By the way, I must admit to another influence: C.S. Lewis; specifically, one of his books, The Screwtape Letters, which is a marvelous, small example of the power of irony and satire. If any of you have never read it, please do get yourselves a copy, as I shall not divulge any details about it, except to say that it has to do with "paternal" advice given by a senior demon to his nephew...**

**Chapter 16: A Nocturnal Confrontation**

He waited for night to fall again. It would go against his purposes to allow himself to be seen in the daytime. Nocturnal breezes, the cold moonlight, all the myriad sounds made by night creatures...they were all perfectly congenial to him. Daylight was inimical to him. He wholeheartedly detested it. Besides, there was definitely something to be said for pipe smoking in the dark hours...

He walked leisurely through the town as the sun began to sink. It had been centuries since he had toured this part of the planet. After all, he often preferred to delegate the obligatory inspections of his kingdom to his subordinates. However, he had made a brief visit to attend a most singular birth, miles away from his present location on the northen coast of France. The birth had taken place in the wee hours of the morning, while it was still dark. The memory brought a cruel smile to his chiseled, grim features. The child had been born horribly disfigured, although the most HE had been able to accomplish was to make sure that at least the right side of the baby's face bore his unmistakable, evil mark. He had been prevented from disfiguring the entire face by the shining presence of one of those despicable creatures from above...He gritted his teeth as the image exploded in his brain anew. Such beauty! He had cringed in the light that burst forth from the angel's face, his clothing. He had shut his eyes and slunk away, his gloating abruptly ended. Ah, but he had done sufficient damage, he knew. The child would most certainly not have a normal childhood, growing to become a twisted, bitter soul...

Through the years, he had checked on the growing child frequently. If other, more pressing matters, required his attention, he had made sure to send one of his faithful attendants to see to the child's progress, and return to give a full report. He had been more than satisfied with the results. Not only had the child's mother completely rejected him, a fact which in itself was immensely satisfying, but the child had indeed grown to hate the entire human race, turning to the darkness for solace. Most impressive...Occasionally, however, HE had been quite disturbed to find evidence of the continuing presence of the shining one, as well. The angel had been there, in Italy, when the master mason had taken the now adolescent child under his wing, showing him the kindness of a father. Then there was the dratted Persian. It had been impossible to be rid of him, and he was, unfortunately, a benevolent influence on the child, now grown to manhood. Ah, but then there had been all those assassinations, ordered by the khanum herself, one of HIS most devoted followers. He smiled to himself in great satisfaction. There was much promise in the lad...It mattered not that he bore a priest's name...Erik. For had he not sealed his allegiance to HIM, on the rooftop of the Opera House? HE now allowed his lips to smile once more, as the pipe smoke wafted around him. How very appropriate, for Erik to have called HIM "The Master"! As indeed HE was...

"You must believe me, Christine," Erik cried out, in the throes of passion, so earnestly that he began to tremble. "I am caught in a trap of my own devising, but I will not allow you to be dragged into perdition with me!" He gazed unblinking into her eyes, inches from them.

The night spun around them, listening. Perhaps there was only the night... but perhaps the night was full of hidden meanings, and beings that could not be touched with flesh-and-blood immediacy, beings that flitted about invisibly, one with the darkness.

Why should the darkness have welcomed him? He had embraced it with open arms, even in the midst of his initial fears. It had been his true mother, he had once thought. That was until his angel of light had arrived, in the midst of his obsidian dreams, to claim him for the light. The light. Could he completely share it with her?

"Erik..." He heard her divine voice, as if from deep within his own soul...It played upon his sensibilities with a very different harmony now. Bringing his face down, he gently pulled on her lips, and her body shifted beneath him. He was inside her. They were soaring through the darkness, together...He shifted as well. His body had entered her, remained inside, as her warm woman's cave welcomed him. Inside Christine. He now knew her internal rhrythms...Indeed, he navigated her blood with ease...

"You are an intoxicating elixir, my love..." His voice spoke breathlessly into her ear. She sighed, her mouth moving to his, taking it as possessively as he himself had taken hers earlier. She kissed him to his very soul...His world shifted, whirled, turned, as he swam across the darkness, through all his night's realm, and she was with him. She stayed with him, a sweet, lilting melody, a slip of a girl who owned his heart, strumming upon its strings as deftly as he roamed her body.

Their nude bodies soared, then sank, into each other. And the darkness sheltered them, even as their passion took them ever deeper into the uncharted territory of their inner selves.

"Please..." Her entreaties were the pulsebeat of his desire. He slid his hands underneath her, lifting her to him, so that he might go deeper still. Her head thrown back in heedless abandon, she offered her swollen breasts to him, as a pagan sybarite might. She had become a woman, with a woman's wild passion. Her body arched into his, and he plundered those hidden depths, that rich ecstasy that lay ensconced within.

"I...will not...let them take you...my love! No!" He plunged again and again, and she grasped him with all her might, sending him soaring...

"Erik!" Her scream of release set him free...His answering, triumphant shout flew out the window, on the night's breeze, on a sigh of longing fulfilled...

Outside, a few yards away, a lone figure stood beneath a tree, sheltered by its shadow. A glint of moonlight briefly showed a thin mustache, a neatly-trimmed goatee. The ubiquitous pipe was clenched between his teeth, and his eyes were turned upward, toward the window, from whence the joyful cries of lovemaking came.

Things were moving along quite nicely, HE had to admit. Already Erik had successfully made her fall again...they were still unmarried. She was steadily falling further into darkness, the darkness she now shared with her beloved. Ah, but then, the Phantom had always been one of his better pupils. The incident with the chandelier had been nothing short of brilliant, and that torture chamber...

HIS thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sigh, accompanied by a rustle of invisible wings. He whirled around furiously, only to be met by the smiling splendor of his constant adversary...

The angel floated a few inches off the ground, grinning from ear to ear. The light emanating from him was so incredibly bright that HE had to shield his eyes from it, by taking off the ever-present fedora and placing it before his face. He had dropped his pipe, too, and that added fuel to his rage.

"Why, Monsieur!" Melethiel greeted HIM, so cheerfully that HE had to stifle a gagging sound. "What a distinctly unpleasant surprise!"

HE stiffened, bringing himself to his full height, even as he continued to hold the fedora in front of his face.

"If you think I shall leave, just because you seem to enjoy drowning me in your light, you are quite mistaken!" He was indeed in a rage now. "Besides, I can command some light of my own! Would you care to witness a dazzling display of hellfire?"

Melethiel laughed. "Begone, Satan! You have nothing further to do here tonight!"

The evil one smirked rather smugly. "Is that so? In case you were not already aware of it, which I find quite difficult to believe, he is having her again, tonight! He has entirely seduced her! Pray tell, is that not the sin of fornication? Or has your great and powerful wizard changed the rules?"

Melethiel simply shone more brightly, and was quite satisfied when HE cowered, making a futile attempt to shield himself from the light.

"You shall not have their souls, Monsieur. I shall see to that!" The wings fluttered, spreading the light.

Melethiel was satisfyingly rewarded by a strangled cry of impotent rage from the one known as "The Master", who now began to retreat, slowly. Then, in a show of vain confidence, he spat, "He swore allegiance to ME, on a night of smothering darkness! Surely all of you must know that up there!"

The angel smiled. "There is no end to the infinite mercy of God, while mortal creatures still live."

The evil one uttered a terrifying cry of rage and pain, and shrank further into the darkness, until suddenly there was nothing to be seen but the gently swaying branches of the trees he had stood in front of.

The angel turned his bright face up to the window, smiling once again.

"There must be a wedding, and very soon indeed!" Then, he, too, was gently swallowed up by the night, one shining atom at a time.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Well, now for another, not totally unexpected confrontation...**

**Chapter 17: The True Tale Emerges...**

The sunshine felt so good on her face, and she turned it up to that golden orb, her eyes closed. She delighted in its warmth, drawing in a deep breath. She had felt she needed the healing daylight upon her skin. As if, she thought, in sudden bitterness, it could cleanse her somehow...

Although the garden would not be in full bloom until spring, there were a few lingering blossoms here and there, and she enjoyed their enveloping scent. She could scarcely believe that Erik had allowed her to come out here, without him, for a short while. She would have wanted him to be with her, of course...would she, really? Was she instead not relieved to be away from his consuming presence for a time?

"Ah, Mademoiselle Daae! I see that you have escaped from your keeper for the moment!"

The voice, all too familiar to her, startled her out of her little reverie. She opened her eyes in alarm, rising from the heavy metal garden bench.

"Raoul! Why are you still here? Have I not been more than clear as to my final choice?" Her heart started beating much too fast.

"Oh, yes, my little Lotte..." He smiled pleasantly, walking slowly over to her.

"You must not call me that, Raoul, please..." She turned from him, gathering her skirts up as if to flee.

He took three quick steps toward her, and grasped her arm, turning her toward him.

"And why should I not call you that, Christine? You have never objected to that name before!"

"Everything...is different now, Raoul..." she whispered, not meeting his eyes. "Please let me go!"

"Christine! No, do not turn your eyes away! Look at me! You have never avoided looking directly at me, in all the time we have known each other!"

Her eyes filled with tears. Seeing them, he felt the cold grip of fear clutch his heart. He slowly released her arm, but stepped even closer to her.

"What is wrong, Christine?" he whispered, with mounting concern.

She shook her head mutely, her tears flowing freely now. She tried to turn from him again, but he would not allow it, taking her in his arms. He was alarmed by her behavior, and knew quite well who was the probable cause.

Christine felt helpless to do anything but weep into his chest, wetting his shirt, cravat, and elegant jacket. She had been holding in her sadness for far too many days...She wept and wept, while Raoul held her tenderly, caressing her hair, murmuring endearments to her. At last, she began to calm down, and gradually, her sobbing ceased. She still clung to him, however, and he relished the contact. She remained in his embrace for a few moments, but then, increasingly aware of the impropriety of her behavior, she placed her hands on his chest, and pushed herself away from him. He let her go, reluctantly.

"Can you tell me what is wrong, at least?" he prompted, very softly.

She had ducked her head once more, refusing to meet his eyes. "I...cannot...tell you, Raoul...Thank you, but it is really not...your..."

"Christine! You cannot expect me to remain indifferent when I see you so greatly distressed! Out with it! It is Erik, is it not? What has he done to you? Why do you insist on staying with a man who causes you such pain?"

She finally turned her tear-swollen eyes to him. "No...Raoul...it is not he..." She suddenly hiccuped.

"Then what could it possibly be?" he demanded. "What else is there, here, so far away from Paris? You know no one in this town!"

"I...could not possibly tell you...Raoul..."

"You must, Christine! Remember, little Lotte, remember, how we spoke on the rooftop of the Opera House, planning our escape! Remember your fear of Erik! You swore to love me forever!"

"Stop! Please stop, Raoul..." She started to walk away from him. He stayed by her side, refusing to allow her from his sight.

"You must tell me what is causing you to feel like this..." he had softened his voice now. "I cannot tolerate seeing you in such a state."

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she began wringing her hands. Suddenly, she looked over at him, then down again.

"There are...nightmares..." she whispered, distraught. Her voice rose a little as she continued. "They are the most horrible dreams..."

"Everyone has nightmares at one time or another. Once you awake, you realize it was only a dream."

She looked directly at him. "And is it normal to have them nearly every night, as well as to know that they are not merely visions spun by a sleeping mind?"

"Christine, you don't mean to tell me that you believe in these dreams!"

"But they are so _real_, Raoul! I think they are my other life now, my life while my body sleeps!" she cried out passionately. "Perhaps...I am losing my mind..." Her eyes took on a faraway look as she said this.

Raoul grasped her shoulders and shook her hard. "No, Christine, you mustn't think that! Tell me, for the love of God, why you say such a thing!"

She stared at him in horror, as if she had just recognized him. Her eyes widened in fear. "No! I absolutely cannot tell you! I will not tell you! You...oh, why can you not simply leave me alone?"

She wrenched herself from his arms, gathered up her skirts again, and abruptly ran away from him, into the inn. He made no attempt to stop her, but merely stared after her, bewildered. He had never seen her so agitated before, except...yes, except on the rooftop of the Opera House...He was sure that Erik was the cause of this. He should have torn her from his side by force! Yet, how could he, when she had been so firm in turning the Vicomte away? He would never understand the hold that damnable monster had on her. She was clearly afraid of him. Perhaps not all the time, but enough of it for the relationship to be worrisome.

He sighed, turning to walk through the garden himself, lost in thought. He had already sent a messenger back to Paris. The message had advised stealth and diligent care, for the Phantom was, of course, well capable of spiriting her away under the Vicomte's very nose...

"Monsieur!"

He turned around at the unexpected, rather loud whisper. At first, he knew not whence it came, but then, he perceived some movement behind a nearby shrub.

"Who's there?" he called out, not in fear, however, for the voice was that of a female. Still, he then cautioned himself, females could be deadly at times...

"You do not know me, Monsieur, but I know very well who you are..." the voice went on.

"Very well, then, show yourself! What is it you want, beyond obviously spying on things that are of no concern to you?"

"Oh, but they very well could be, Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny! They very well could be..."

A young woman now stepped forth, and he recognized her as one of the maids he had seen in the inn, bustling about.

"I am Antoinette Gaspard, at your service, Monsieur. I have...been told that you would pay most handsomely for any information pertaining to the young lady who has just left the garden." Having said this, she curtsied very prettily.

"Ahh..." He smiled grandly at her. "A willing accomplice at last! And have you something of interest to tell me, then?"

"Why, yes, Monsieur!" And here she curtsied again.

"Well, well!" His smile grew ever broader. "Let's have it, shall we?"

She shyly lowered her eyes, simpering at him, as she folded her hands behind her back.

"I would prefer for payment to be tendered first, Monsieur..."

"Why, you little minx!" He laughed, reaching into his pocket, and bringing forth a fifty-franc note. "Very well...will this do?"

Her eyes took on a greedy shine. "Most certainly, Monsieur!" Stepping nearer to him, she swiftly reached forward, snatching the money from his hand before he could stop her, and, giggling, moved out of his reach.

"Well, so what is this information you have to impart to me?" he demanded, impatiently.

She sighed as she folded the note into her ample bodice.

"Ah, Monsieur, it is about the young Mademoiselle..."

"Yes, yes, what is it?" He wanted to throttle her!

"Well, M'sieur...she is no longer a maiden, if you take my meaning, sir..."

"She is...what! What do you mean?" He took a threatening step toward her, but she scuttled away, and he knew that she might bolt at any moment.

"Surely you know my meaning, sir...She has...well, been on intimate terms with the strange gentleman she has been caring for..."

"He is no gentleman!" Raoul roared, startling the young maid, who now indeed fled, totally terrified. She would never have imagined that such a refined, genteel, young aristocrat would bellow in such a manner. He was no better than that oaf, Pierre, who constantly accosted her whenever she needed to pass by the stables...

Raoul fell to his knees, impaled by grief and rage. His Christine, his pure little flower, now sullied forever by that madman! He grasped dirt from the garden floor, burying his face in it.

Antoinette, now safely beyond his reach, watched, astonished, from an upstairs window, as the Vicomte continued to tear at the dirt with his hands, his face still on the ground. Marguerite stood beside her, open-mouthed.

"There, did I not tell you? He _still _loves her! And she being bedded by that man! Uf, he frightens me! Have you seen him, Margot?"

"Only for the merest instant, when I took the tray up to their suite once. He had his face turned to the wall, and she immediately took the tray from me. She would not allow me to enter the room."

"This is the stuff of the best gossip, Margot!" Antoinette exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with glee.

Marguerite glanced at her friend with a smug grin. "I, my dear Antoinette, am above such trivial matters!" Turning her nose up in the air, she began to turn away, but suddenly began to giggle.

Antoinette joined her, and now brought out the fifty-franc note. Marguerite's mouth opened again, and she backed away. She shook her head at her friend.

"For shame, Antoinette! How could you accept money from him, and for such a thing!"

Antoinette shrugged, putting the note away. "And why not, pray tell? He has plenty of it to throw around, and I intend to get more of it, so there!"

The two then walked away from the window, Marguerite shaking her head, while down below, in the garden, a young, handsome aristocrat now arose, his mind bent on one purpose. His face and hands were smudged with dirt, and his trousers and shirt also had dirt stains on them. Uncaring, he strode away with great determination.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: All rights to these characters belong to Leroux, et al. The plot, however, is entirely my own, although some subliminal, and not so subliminal, influences are involved...**

**Chapter 18: Divine Intervention**

The gentle sunlight pricked at her eyelids, and she stirred, indolently. As she opened her eyes, turning her head on the pillow, she became aware that she was alone. Erik was not lying next to her, as she would have expected, after another night of intense lovemaking.

As she pushed back the blankets, puzzled by his absence, her naked skin encountered the chilly morning air, and she blushed. Sleeping in the nude was still completely new to her. So was the experience of having a lover...Tears rose to her eyes. _A lover_. _Erik was her lover_. She knew that other women found such experiences to be a normal part of life. Did not even aristocratic ladies take lovers for a time, exchanging them for new ones once they became bored? To her, with her strict Catholic upbringing, such experiences were anything but "normal". She had always despised such women...Well, it was true that she would not callously discard Erik, in order to move on to the next exciting male body. Erik was hers, forever...she would never cast him off, as these other women did their paramours. She must marry him, as soon as possible. She now knew that, whenever he touched her, all her moral scruples would fly out the window, and she would give in to his mesmerizing sensuality...

She was suddenly assaulted by fear. Had he left her? Had he finally decided that, having given him her virtue, she was now simply one more woman who had slipped from a lofty pedestal?

"Erik!"

Her cry was met by silence.

Throwing the blankets back, she arose with wildly pounding heart, attempting to contain the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. Swiftly she donned a pair of drawers, a simple gown. They were part of the clothes that she had asked one of the maids, Marguerite, to go into town and purchase for her. She could still remember the maid's wide-eyed stare, her knowing look...

Guilt and fear accompanied her as she dressed, faster than she had ever done, even when pressed by rehearsal schedules at the Opera House.

She did not bother with a corset. After all, there was no one there to lace it up for her...

She quickly grabbed a cloak from the armoire, wrapping herself in it, throwing up the hood.

The sight that met her eyes when she walked into the sitting room left her breathless, and calmed her fears considerably.

An easel had been set up in one corner, on which sat a half-finished canvas. It was a portrait...of herself. The small couches in the room were littered with sketches Erik had made, in preparation for the painting itself. They showed her in different poses -- lying on her cot, sitting next to the wide windows, dreamily staring out to the sea. They showed Christine smiling, Christine sleeping, Christine in all her various shades of being.

Next to the easel, there was a small table, laden with painting materials -- a vase containing clean brushes, a palette that showed signs of recent use, as well as several paint-laden brushes, lying next to the palette. There were also two vases containing liquids that she could only guess at. Solvents, Erik had called them, when explaining to her that he wanted to paint an oil portrait of her.

Now her tears flowed, silently.

Lifting her gaze, she looked out the window, towards the sea. She thought she could see a dark figure walking at the edge of the surf, in the early morning light.

With a cry of longing, she ran from the room, down the stairs, out of the inn.

She ran to him, the man who had captured her soul.

Erik turned at her cry. She was flying down the dunes toward him, her entire self reaching out to him. He felt a stab of guilt at having left her alone, and ran up to meet her.

"Erik, Erik!" She sobbed, as his arms fiercely enfolded her. Her riotous hair was revealed as her hood was blown back by the wind.

"Shhh, my love, I am here...Did you perhaps think that I had left you?"

"Yes...No..." She breathed out, between sobs. "Oh, Erik!" She truly burst into tears, then.

His heart overturned. What was he doing to her? He knew that she truly enjoyed their lovemaking, that she could not resist him... Yet, the very fact that she could not adhere to her moral standards when in his presence was tormenting her, even as she welcomed his touch, his kisses, his hard, masculine body...

He must overcome his fears, and marry her at once.

"Do not weep, my love..." He began covering her face with tiny kisses. "Come, we will go into town at once, and my face be damned! We must find a priest, so that you shall not suffer so!"

Smiling through her tears, she looked lovingly at him. Then she suddenly hiccuped, and he laughed.

"The painting, Erik..." she whispered in awe. "The sketches...they are so beautiful..."

His gaze was warm upon her face. "Thank you, my love," he said, gallantly kissing her hand, "I was inspired by the beauty of my model."

She could not help but blush, thinking that blushing was becoming an enduring event whenever she was around Erik.

"Why...why did you come out here by yourself?" she asked, between hiccups, having decided to change the subject.

Enclosing her in his embrace, he walked her up the dunes, as the wind whipped at their clothes.

"I had to take some time alone, to think what I must do. I wanted to marry you secretly, at night. I did not want to walk into the town with this face, even if covered by the mask, in broad daylight. I came out here very early in the morning, with no one about. It was still pitch black out here, since there was no moon. Now the daylight has caught me!" He laughed, ruefully.

She stopped, smiling, and turned in his arms, cupping his unmarred cheek. "Are you trying to tell me that you are really a vampire?" she teased.

"Ah, yes! I shall feast on you for all eternity!" He nipped at her neck, while she attempted to squirm away.

"Erik! That tickles!"

"You said no such thing last night, my love..." His hot, intense gaze locked on her eyes, and she blushed yet again, looking down.

"I believe you said something about marriage, Erik..."

"At once, my sweet!" He suddenly swept her up into his arms, sprinting toward the inn.

As they approached the building, they were unpleasantly surprised to see that someone was waiting for them.

It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

Erik was so startled that he nearly stopped in his tracks, but was able to control himself, so as not to drop Christine. He slowed to a gentle stop, and carefully set her down, keeping her firmly tucked under his arm as he faced the young aristocrat.

"I fail to see why you are here, Monsieur. Were you not told, in no uncertain terms, that your presence was no longer required?" He could feel his anger rising, even as he attempted to control it, for Christine's sake.

"You fiend!" Raoul fairly spat at him. "You obviously have her under some sort of spell! She cannot resist you of her own free will!"

"She loves me, you fool!" Erik roared. "Is it so very difficult for you to understand that? You have never struck me as stupid, Monsieur!"

"Indeed, I have become a fool for love..." the Vicomte conceded, sadly. "Yet, why would Christine have agreed to marry me in the first place? Then she encounters you once more, and you place her into this...hypnotic trance!"

Erik growled, and advanced threateningly toward the young aristocrat. Then he felt Christine's restraining hand.

"Please, Erik!" she pleaded. "Allow me to reason with him..."

"There is no reasoning with a man who is deeply in love, Christine!" Erik cried out, passionately. "Can you not see for yourself? This can only end in his death, or mine!"

"No, no!" she screamed. "I could not bear it if either of you were to die! You shall both kill me as well!" She sank to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Ah, Monsieur..." Erik stooped down beside her, all his anger suddenly squeezed out of him, and gathered her into his arms as she continued to weep. "This cannot be...we will indeed kill her..."

Holding her tightly to his body, he wept as well. "Christine, Christine..."

Raoul's own eyes stung with tears, and his lower lip quivered. How he longed to be the one holding her instead! His anger was gone as well. He could not bear to see Christine suffer, even if he believed that this man somehow held her will prisoner.

"Christine!" In his despair, he attempted to reach her. "Tell me that you love him, of your own free will! Tell me that you choose him! Ah...but I cannot accept that! How can you love such a monster, a man who has murdered, in cold blood, and who would not hesitate to murder again if the situation arose?"

Christine looked up at him from Erik's embrace, her face swollen with tears. "Can you not see, Raoul, that I have already chosen? It is he whom I love!"

"But you have told me you love me, as well!" he screamed, utterly beyond control now.

"Enough!" Erik roughly pushed Christine away, and got on his feet, leaving her looking up at him, stunned.

"Take her! She is yours! I will not be the cause of any more suffering! AND I WILL NOT KILL AGAIN!"

_Ah, Monsieur, you cannot make such a ridiculous assertion..._The voice whispered seductively in his mind, and he turned, even as he had begun to stride away.

_He is no match for your incredible strength, to which I shall also lend My own. Take him! I am giving him into your hands!_

A red rage rose in Erik, and his eyes blazed as he stopped in his tracks, abruptly whirling to face Raoul. The Vicomte saw the change in him, and stepped back, his hand on the sword at his side.

Christine, disbelieving, lay on the ground, horrified at the change that had so swiftly come over Erik.

As if in an eternity of time, she saw his hand move to a hidden pocket of his cloak, and she knew...

It had never occurred to her that he might still carry that accursed lasso with him. She was not close enough to him to stop what she well knew would come next...

_**THOU SHALT NOT KILL!**_

The words came in a blinding burst of light that flooded the scene. Raoul fell to the ground, unable to withstand the onslaught of that light, awestruck by the words.

Erik felt himself swept up in other-worldly arms, in the rush of a mighty wind. There was light, only light, as he heard a horrible voice scream somewhere near him, in utter frustration, only to die away, defeated. _Christine! Where are you?_ Every cell in his body screamed out for her. Then he heard her voice, although he could not see her in the brilliant light that enveloped him. _Erik! I am here, my love!_

Several long moments passed.

The Vicomte, shaking his head, dared to sit up, and gingerly opened his eyes.

The blinding light was gone. So were Erik and Christine.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: Well, thanks once again to Gaston for creating him, even if he made him into a rather creepy character...Thanks most of all to Susan, Andrew, and Joel, for making him so devastatingly mesmerizing!**

**Chapter 19: A Most Unusual Journey**

Christine blinked, and looked around. She could not determine where she might be. She was still lying on the ground, but knew that she was no longer on the dunes near the coastside inn. There was a diffuse light all around her. To her great relief, she saw Erik standing a few feet away from her, looking as stunned as she herself felt. He now walked over to her, and, taking both of her hands in his, pulled her up to stand before him. Cradling her protectively in his arms, he tenderly kissed her forehead.

"Are you all right, my love?" His voice was a welcome balm to her soul. She trembled with need. She could not control the effect he had on her. Never would she tire of him, of his intense, passionate, masculinity, his sweet love for her, his relentless desire...Her eyes met his, and she gave him her soul anew...

He took her lips in a gentle, yet unmistakably possessive, kiss.

Then they heard the voice of the angel.

"You are to marry this woman at once, Erik."

Still holding on to each other, they turned to face the voice.

The splendor of his light was awe-inspiring. He was tall, with translucent skin, and robed in white, appropriately enough.

"Where are we?" Erik dared to ask him.

The angel's resounding, melodious voice answered, quieting their fears, but not eliminating their nearly overpowering sense of awe. "You are in a place between worlds -- not quite on Earth, yet not in Heaven, either. And you are most assuredly nowhere near Hell. Indeed, you are completely out of HIS reach here."

"Why have you brought us here?" Erik continued.

"It was the only way to prevent a tragedy that would have destroyed the three of you. You would never have been able to fulfill your destiny, Erik, had you been allowed to kill Raoul."

"And what IS my destiny?" Erik was not quite over his surprise at having a conversation with one of God's angels. He was, after all, the spawn of the Devil, was he not? Such he had been called far too many times...

"To marry Christine. To escape forever from the clutches of evil, and enter the kingdom of Goodness."

Erik's eyes filled, and Christine's arms tightened around him as her eyes also grew moist.

The angel smiled at them, opening his arms.

They went to him, then, and he enfolded them in his warm embrace. The light suddenly intensified, enveloping the three of them. Erik and Christine closed their eyes agaisnt it, even as they held on to the angel.

The light suddenly disappeared, and they ventured to open their eyes.

The brilliance of the morning light was as nothing compared to that of the heavenly light they had experienced. Still, it was quite bright, and both of them felt temporarily disoriented. Looking around, they discovered that they had somehow been transported to the village located down the road from the inn. People were walking about, good stout French villagers who worked from dawn to dusk, every day of the week. They went to their church on Sundays, lifting up their eyes to God in their simple faith.

Erik's left hand instinctively went up to his mask. He could feel the sidelong stares of some of the villagers.

Christine looked up at him as she squeezed his hand in reassurance. Turning, she smiled at some of the passersby, eliciting a few smiles in return.

Erik was not reassured in the least. He knew that seemingly good, decent people were quite capable of the greatest cruelty, especially when confronted by the strange, the unusual, the disturbingly different.

Grasping Christine's arm firmly, he steered her toward a shadowed space between two buildings, shielding his mask with his left hand as they walked.

"Christine, we must get away from here...they are all staring at me. I cannot bear it!"

While understanding his agitation, Christine could not help but be relieved to be away from the inn, where she knew Raoul lurked.

"Erik", she now whispered, attempting to calm him down, "we have been sent here for a reason."

He drew a ragged breath, his heart pounding. "Yes, to keep us away from that despicable boy, for which I am most grateful! I wish our heavenly benefactor had chosen a more secluded location, however!"

She smiled as she brought her hand up to his unmarred cheek, which she stroked lovingly. He reacted immediately, capturing her little hand in his large, gloved one, tenderly kissing her palm.

"Erik, the angel sent us here for another, very good reason."

"Ah..." He smiled down at her. "Might it be the one dearest to your heart?"

Her smile broadened in reply. "The very one, my angel!"

He sighed, pulling her into his arms.

"I do not deserve such goodness, such love...So you still wish to be my wife, Christine? You are not afraid to marry this man who is a monster, whose soul is the Devil's own?"

"Erik," she chided softly, "you are NOT a monster! You are the sweetest, most wonderful, most passionate man! And as for your soul belonging to the Devil, well, he shall certainly not have you in the end! I shall not let him take you!"

Smiling, he leaned over, and placed a peck on her nose. "My defiant little diva! How do you do that?"

"Do what, Erik?" She smiled up at him with some bewilderment.

"Bring your purity and sunshine into my darkened soul..." He sighed, and lowered his head to cover her lips with his own.

The kiss was everything she had ever wanted a man's kiss to be -- tender, passionate, possessive, a blatant declaration of eternal love. She felt herself inexorably falling, falling, into a vortex of dark, tempestuous desire...

"Bah, Monsieur, that is no way to kiss a woman!"

"If you come into my arms, cherie, I'll give you some kissing that will curl your toes!"

Raucuous laughter suddenly surrounded the lovers. Erik lifted his head as the anger began to uncoil within him. Turning, he scowled at the small crowd that had gathered around them. He was quite satisfied to hear two or three shocked gasps from the front of the crowd. Taking a threatening step forward, he snarled like a cornered animal. He could feel Christine beginning to tremble beside him, but he could not allow that to deter him. He would die fighting before he would allow any of these perverted village louts to lay a finger on her.

The crowd drew back, stunned, murmuring about this most unusual phenomenon. Never had they encountered such a formidable personage. The louts in question also took a few steps back, but they did not leave, as Erik had hoped. He swiftly thrust Christine behind him, snarling again while he felt the pockets of his cloak with one hand. He was not quite surprised to discover that the lasso had mysteriously disappeared. Well, perhaps not so mysteriously, he mused wryly.

"Who are you, Monsieur?" One of the insolent louts now dared to speak to him.

One of his companions guffawed. "More to the point, Jacques, WHAT is he?"

"The son of the Devil, perhaps!" A voice cried out from the back of the crowd. This was followed by more gasps, and several of those present hastily crossed themselves.

The one called Jacques sneered at Erik, seemingly unafraid.

"What is your business with this woman? Do you not know it is indecent to kiss a lady in public the way you were kissing her? Unless, of course, she happens to be a whore!"

There were more shocked gasps, more raucous laughter.

Erik was shaking with anger. "The lady happens to be my betrothed, Monsieur! If you value your life, you would do well to watch your words! How I kiss her is not your concern! Now let us pass, and we shall be on our way!"

Jacques did not move a muscle, giving Erik stare for stare. "Oh, but it IS very much my concern, Monsieur..." His voice had become dangerously smooth, silkily sarcastic. "I do not think the lady truly cares for your company. I would take her off your hands without any trouble. What say you, lads, eh?"

His cronies burst into laughing cheers. "Have at him, Jacques, my boy!" one of them cried out.

"Erik..." Christine whimpered, as she felt him tense, preparing for the inevitable charge from Jacques.

"Christine, you must run as fast as you can when he comes at me! Do you hear me?" He hissed at her, pushing her away with one hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the burly man before him. Although the villager was at least ten years younger, Erik knew that he would be no match for his own strength. The problem was that his friends would then jump to his aid, and Erik would be outnumbered. They would bring him down, tear off his mask, pummel and kick him...

"Bonjour, mes amis! What have we here?" The loud, booming voice came from the back of the crowd, and everyone stilled at once. Jacques moved back slightly, but kept his eyes on Erik. His friends stepped off to one side, as if suddenly intent on keeping their distance from him.

The members of the crowd began to move aside, avoiding each other's gazes, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. Erik, still in battle stance, warily looked from one face to another, puzzled as to what had caused this abrupt change. Still they stepped aside, as the owner of the booming voice moved through their midst.

A veritable giant of a man, sporting a luxuriant mustache and beard, cheerfully appeared at the edge of the crowd. Seeing Jacques, he clapped him on the shoulder, smiling broadly.

"Good to see you, my boy! I have not had the pleasure of seeing you warming a pew in church recently! How is the fishing this beautiful day?"

Jacques lowered his head like a guilty young boy caught stealing apples from a neighbor's tree.

"The fish are biting, thank you, Father," he muttered, sheepishly.

"Glad to hear it!" boomed the unlikely-looking priest, again clapping him on the shoulder. Erik had to suppress a smirk when he saw Jacques wince. He had already pegged the man as the village bully, and well he knew from his own experience that all bullies were miserable cowards at heart.

The priest looked around at the people gathered behind Jacques and his friends.

"Well, well! What a lovely surprise to see these faces that have not graced my church in a month of Sundays! Maurice, I have been missing the presence of your rather large brood. Kindly give my regards to your lovely wife. Ah, my sweet little Gabrielle! And how is your sainted mother?"

The young girl in question shyly met the priest's eyes. "She is doing very well, Father. We both thank you for your prayers."

"Well then, I trust I shall see you at Mass this Sunday, so you may receive the Lord Himself in Holy Communion!"

"Yes, Father," she murmured. Curtsying briefly, she scurried away into the crowd.

The giant now turned toward Christine and Erik. Christine had come to stand beside Erik, and he had put an arm around her protectively. They both met the priest's somewhat startled, but kindly gaze.

"Ah, Monsieur and Mademoiselle, we do not often see visitors in our fair village! Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

Christine, overcome with astonishment, could not utter a word. Erik answered for both of them.

"Well, Father," he said with some embarrassment, as he had never been on very good terms with the clergy, "this is Mademoiselle Christine Daae, my betrothed, and I am, simply, Erik."

The priest reached for Erik's hand. Erik gave it to him, rather uncomfortably, and was surprised to feel it warmly shaken. Christine was next, as the priest gently took her hand, gallantly bowing over it as he kissed it.

Straightening, he smiled even more, and introduced himself. "I am Pere Michel Devereux. Welcome to our beautiful village, and of course, to my church. Both of you do attend Mass on Sunday, I presume?" His eyes twinkled merrily.

"Why, of course, Father," Christine managed to say, surreptitiously digging an elbow into Erik's side.

"Well, that's wonderful news, my dear!" Devereux beamed at them, as if he had known them all their lives.

Turning back to the crowd, he announced, "Well, I trust that the curiosity of all of you wonderfully curious people has been amply satisfied! You may all disperse now, and go about your business! Antoinette, my dear, hurry home so you can tell your cousin Linnette all about it!"

With an outraged flounce, the woman named Antoinette turned and hurried away, followed by loud laughter.

Devereux turned a mock suffering glance toward Jacques and his little band, who were uncomfortably staring down at the ground, waiting for their leader to give the word so they could leave.

The priest loudly cleared his throat. "Happy fishing, Jacques!"

Jacques gave one final glare at Erik, and then, nodding his head, stalked away, followed by his pack of fellow troublemakers.

Devereux turned to the lovers with a sigh of frustration.

"He has always been a problem, that one! Ever since he was no higher than my knees! But come, my dear ones, you must find lodging for tonight."

Erik also cleared his throat. "We already have lodging, Father. We are staying at the inn down the road."

"Ah," said Devereux. "What brings you into town, then? Perhaps you wanted to see its loveliness? Although I must really apologize for some of its inhabitants." He laughed ruefully.

"We...would like...to be married, Father." Erik continued, with some hesitation. He was suddenly feeling apprehensive as to the actual event. He had, after all, never set foot in a church, although he knew that he had been baptized into the Catholic Church.

"Well, well! You have certainly wasted no time in finding the appropriate person to perform the deed, eh?" Father Devereux laughed heartily, and Erik found his lips curving into an unaccustomed smile.

"Yes, we certainly have, have we not?" He rejoined.

"Come, then! You must see my church! I am sure you will find it much to your liking!"

Turning as he said this, he led them down the street, paying no attention to the stares they drew. No one would dare accost the visitors while the priest was with them. Erik and Christine walked along with him as he supplied them with a never-ending stream of lively conversation.

Erik could not believe that the priest had not mentioned his mask at all...


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: As usual, I must deny owning any rights to these characters...**

**Chapter 20: As The Devil Turns...**

Raoul slowly stirred, and sat up with some difficulty, half expecting to see some ominous-looking smoke swirling around him. When he had completely discovered that there was none, he got to his feet, heart pounding.

The Phantom and Christine had inexplicably disappeared, he knew not where.

Raoul de Chagny frowned, striving to control the sudden sense of dread that was threatening to overtake him. Something sinister was afoot, he had no doubt of that. Just as surely, he doubted not that Erik was somehow involved. Was he a magician after all? Yes, Raoul mused, as he thoughtfully began to walk back toward the inn, on legs that were somewhat unsteady. Yes, Erik was a magician, and perhaps of the darkest sort...and yet...

Surely the Voice had not been a magician's trick! Raoul shook his head, awed in spite of himself. He had known, of course, that Erik was an accomplished ventriloquist, but never had the young aristocrat heard such a commanding voice, such ringing tones. More awe-inspiring yet was the content of that command, which had quoted one of God's commandments prohibiting the taking of life...

Suddenly, Raoul shuddered. A chill crept over him as he felt an unseen presence behind him. He whirled, heart pounding even harder.

"Well, my boy, that was rather quick of you!"

This voice was drippingly friendly, and yet, Raoul could not suppress another shudder. A stranger stood before him, impeccably dressed in an expensively-tailored suit. A satin cravat with a glittering diamond adorned his shirt collar. The ensemble was complete with a very dapper top hat, and a flowing cape. All his garments were of the deepest, darkest black.

"I...beg your pardon, Monsieur?" Raoul felt rather discomfited. The young Vicomte was not known to lose his composure so readily, even if he were startled by a stranger. And this strange man, whose visage radiated friendliness along with a very fashionable goatee, had truly startled him.

"Have I startled you, my young sir?" The man asked with obvious amusement at his own redundancy. Then he raked the young man from head to foot, the friendly expression still on his face. A shrewd expression, however, soon replaced it.

Raoul could not help feeling that he was being inspected for a specific purpose. This man meant to press him to his service. He did not know how he knew this, only that he was completely certain of it.

The feeling grew as the minutes passed, and yet the young man could not pull himself away, even as he began to grow rather uncomfortable under the stranger's very peculiar scrutiny.

"Well, he shall have to do, I suppose..." The man suddenly sighed, and his words were swifly borne away on the wind.

Raoul blinked. "Did you...say something, Monsieur?" He found, to his dismay, that he was stammering. He could not understand what could possibly be affecting him so. He, Raoul de Chagny, was no coward.

The man in the top hat carelessly waved his hand, smiling broadly. "Why, Monsieur, I said nothing, nothing at all! And let me assure you, my dear young de Chagny, you are indeed no coward! You need have no fear of that, no indeed!"

Here the man began to chuckle heartily, while Raoul shook his head, bewildered. What had he been saying? He stared at the stranger as if in a daze.

"Did you...did I...say...?"

"Ah,my dear, dear, boy! It matters not! Come! Let us go into the inn and share a glass of wine, perhaps a card game or two, eh?"

He suddenly threw a comradely arm around the young man's shoulders, and Raoul shuddered again at the contact, but found himself unable to throw off the arm. Instead, he found himself nodding his head in agreement, as the stranger steered him back to the inn...

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"Erik, what is the matter?" Christine stared at her betrothed as he stood, his face contorted in pain, at the entrance to the church. He had not stepped over the threshold, but had stopped just before it. Sweat had broken out on his brow.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" Father Devereaux turned to her. She was standing by the holy water receptacle located just a few feet away from the entrance, inside the church. The pews were a few feet further inside.

Father Devereaux fixed his eyes upon Erik, and his expression hardened. Yet, his eyes remained gentle as they met Erik's.

"Come in, my boy. You have nothing to fear here. It is the house of The Lord."

Erik nodded stiffly, licking his lips, and looking down at the church floor, as if the answer would somehow appear in writing on the flagstones. Then he cautiously took a step inside. He dared to glance at the holy water, and quickly glanced away again.

Christine reached out to him, attempting to take his hand.

"No, Christine..." He looked into her eyes, sending her a silent plea. "Do not touch me, I beg you..."

Christine's eyes grew moist. She knew this look of his. He was immersed in an intense, inner agony. She could not understand why, for they were hundreds of miles away from the Opera House, and surely no one threatened him here...

"Do as he says, Mademoiselle," the priest said quietly, his voice soft and very, very gentle, yet unmistakably commanding.

Christine slowly stepped back, away from Erik, although her very being ached for him. All she wanted to do was run into his arms, comfort him, assure him of her staunch love. It was so difficult for her to simply stand by while he was obviously suffering...

Erik hesitated, then began to walk into the church, slowly, his breathing unsteady. Devereaux watched him, his eyes never leaving the Phantom's figure for a moment.

As he walked further and further into the church, Erik felt the feeling of oppression that had suddenly overcome him at the entrance lift slightly, although not entirely. Sweat still beaded his brow, and his breathing was still labored. He walked rather unsteadily down the aisle. At one point, he stumbled, and would have fallen, but he steadied himself by grasping the edge of a pew.

Christine gasped when he stumbled, and would have rushed forward to help him had it not been for the priest's softly whispered, restraining command. She twisted her hands together instead, and turned her distraught gaze upon Devereaux.

"What is wrong with him, Father?" she whispered, tears in her voice.

"Do you not know, my daughter?" he replied. "You have been with him for some time now, have you not? Do you not know when someone is under the thrall of the Evil One?"

Christine gasped again, and herself grasped the edge of the nearest pew.

"Then you know..." She could not continue, for she could read the priest's all-too-knowing look.

"Indeed," he answered, smiling wryly. "Indeed I do, Mademoiselle. Ah, yes, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Fear not. I am also very much aware of the great love between you two. And the good Lord is nothing if not merciful and patient with His little ones."

"Oh, Father!" Her cheeks took on the bright glow of red apples.

The priest chuckled again at her discomfort, and took her hand, which he lightly and respectfully kissed.

"Come, come, my dear! You are not the first maid to succumb to love's heady temptation! We shall remedy that presently, shall we not?"

"Ye...yes, Father," she mumbled, tears sparkling in her eyes. She was sure she had never met a priest such as this one. Truly he was quite out of the ordinary.

"But now," he continued pleasantly, as he began to steer her along the aisle, in Erik's direction, "we must attend to your betrothed. I do believe he is in some distress, which I will do my very best to remedy."

Christine nodded, dazed.

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Raoul's head was spinning. Beside him, the strange man laughed suddenly, as he threw down a pair of aces.

"Well, my young Monsieur! You appear to be losing again! At this rate, I will surely win your ancestral chateau, will I not?"

Raoul bobbed his head at the man, and had to grasp the edge of the table as the entire room suddenly tilted precariously to the side.

"Well, enough! I tire of this tedious game! I do believe we have some business to discuss..."

About an hour later, a very determined, very sober Raoul de Chagny strode firmly out of the inn, and into a waiting coach that the stranger had mysteriously procured for him.

"Where would you like to go, Monsieur de Chagny?" The driver obsequiously inquired.

The Vicomte did not stop to consider the peculiar fact that the coachman already knew his name. Then he realized that this man must be in the stranger's employ. Shrugging, he calmly stated that he wanted to be conveyed to the village that lay down the road.

Entering the coach, he settled back in his seat, adjusting his coat around himself, thus concealing the magnificent brace of pistols that the mysterious stranger had so generously bestowed on him.

When Raoul questioned him, the stranger had refused to reveal his name.

"It does not matter, my dear boy," he had glibly replied, smiling that too-perfect smile. "I am, after all, quite glad to be of some help in matters of true love! Buy you may henceforth remember me as 'Monsieur Le Mystere'!" He had chuckled most merrily at this, tipped his hat at Raoul, and then turned on his heel, walking briskly away.

A slow smile stole over Raoul's features as the coach rolled away. The stranger was gone from his thoughts as suddenly as the man himself had appeared.

Erik had absolutely no idea of the surprise that awaited him...


End file.
